


The Masks We Wear

by FanfictionWarrior



Series: The Sreng Chronicles [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: And I will be tagging as I add chapters!, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Assassination attempts, But I'll attempt to get better, Era Appropriate Violence, F/M, I talk about death like A LOT, I try to make up an entire culture for Sreng on the spot and you guys get to read the aftermath, I'm Bad At Tagging, Minor Character Death, Poisoning, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | Azure Moon (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers for Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), The very first chapter starts in a different POV from what I'll actually be writing in, There is a language barrier, This does get pretty dark, This fic has been beta-read so hopefully it's good, angsty backstory, mostly for aesthetic reasons, some pov changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-01-25 10:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 47
Words: 102,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21354889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanfictionWarrior/pseuds/FanfictionWarrior
Summary: In the Imperial Year 1175, King Lambert of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus paid a visit to the Margrave Gautier. To the general public, he was visiting to discuss a possible visit to Duscur that would take place the following year.Nearly four and a half years later Lambert has long since died, but the secret peace talks with Sreng he asked the Margrave to undertake have finally come to fruition.Now, Sylvain had always been expecting to be married off to a noblewoman, but he hadn't expected that noblewoman to be a Sreng princess. Nor did he expect her to be unable to read her own language, let alone the one of Fodlan. But for the sake of peace, and perhaps for the sake of never needing to wield the Lance of Ruin... He's determined to make things work.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Reader
Series: The Sreng Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048845
Comments: 182
Kudos: 659





	1. The Skirt-Chaser and the Warrior

The princess sat proudly on her horse as she waited at the border, two guards on their own horses a short way behind her.

She was to meet her future husband here, a man from the very family of Fodlan warriors that had been fighting her people for generations. The marriage would cement peace between the two groups, and in the eyes of the king of Sreng… That peace was welcome.

They may be warriors, but only an idiot continues to fight an opponent who never fails to win the fight.

She watched the approaching red-head with a critical gaze as he rode towards the group, completely alone. She judged him to be about a year older than her, but that was all she could determine from such a distance.

He didn’t _look_ like much of a warrior.

It was almost laughable that she would be marrying him. Even as she gazed at the lance that had cut down thousands of her people… She could hardly believe that this was the lord’s son.

But from the description she’d been given by the envoys, this was indeed her future husband.

When he was finally close enough to speak, he looked at her with about the same amount of reluctance as she felt. But unlike her, he didn’t hide it well.

In fact, he didn’t hide it at all.

“You are…” She paused, attempting to recall the name she’d been given. “Sylvain?”

He looked taken aback by her words, as if he’d expected her to be unable to speak his language. Or perhaps he was surprised by the accent. To the princess, it was unclear.

“I am.” He sighed, his gaze darting to the guards behind her.

“My apologies for the…” She paused again, frowning as she tried to remember the word. “Guards. My father… Ah… _Insisted_.”

“You must be (y/n).” The boy said at last, turning his gaze back to the princess. “You’re far prettier than the envoy suggested.”

She tilted her head, frowning with confusion.

The guards behind her began whispering to each other, neither of them able to understand the conversation. But before they could draw their swords, the princess held up her hand to silence them.

“Well, princess,” He sighed, turning his horse. “Shall we?”

The princess merely nodded, waving away her guards as she moved her horse forward.

She stepped over the border from one land to the next, setting a series of events in motion that would change Fodlan forever.


	2. The Clueless Princess

You sighed as you stared out the window of the carriage.

You’d been in Fodlan for just over a week and you were already tired of it. The moment you’d arrived in the Gautier household you’d been informed that you would need to pretend to be someone you weren’t.

Because as far as the rest of Faerghus was concerned, these peace talks weren’t happening.

It perturbed you, to say the least.

Until the margrave could be sure that there were no spies in his home… You were stuck pretending to be a soft-spoken, delicate young woman from a minor noble family. You hated pretending to be weak, it simply wasn’t in your nature.

It took every bit of your training to force yourself to not refuse offers of help, to not do things that would suggest you weren’t quite as delicate as everyone thought… What was most infuriating was that Sylvain either avoided you like the plague or spoke to you with an increasing number of words you just couldn’t understand.

You’d spend hours every night attempting to make sense of the squiggly letters in one of the many books in your room to no avail. There had been books back in the palace but you’d never been taught to read them. You weren’t a scholar.

You were a warrior, plain and simple.

“What’s with that sigh?” Sylvain’s voice dragged your gaze away from the window for a moment. “You had fun today, right?”

You frowned, choosing to ignore his attempts at a conversation by turning your gaze back to the window. He talked too much anyway.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” He leaned forward as he spoke, so that you could see the shock of red hair in your peripheral vision. “This is probably our first chance to hold a normal conversation, and you want to ignore me?”

What was it the margrave had said?

Ah yes, carriage rides were the only places where you could speak freely. You didn’t even know what a carriage _was_ until you’d been hoisted inside one like an infant. While you understood that your current situation was meant to keep you safe… You still hated it.

And what was that phrase the boy had just told you? ‘Hold a conversation’?

How could you hold a conversation? It wasn’t a physical object… 

Unless it was another ‘figure of speech’, which you were still confused about. How could speech have a figure?

“I do not…” You paused, pursing your lips as you concentrated. “_Hold a conversation_ very well.”

“You seem to have a good enough grasp of the language.” Sylvain commented. “I walked past your room last night and you looked completely engrossed in a book.”

“Engrossed?”

“Yeah, engrossed.” He sighed. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”

“I was not... ‘Engrossed’ in the book.” You snapped, turning your head so you could glare at him. “I cannot enjoy something that I cannot read.”

“You can’t read?” He blinked in surprise, sitting back in his chair. “Well, that’s going to make it tough when we go to the academy…”

“What is an… _Academy_?”

“An academy? It’s a… Uh… School?” He ran a hand through his hair as he caught sight of your confused frown. “It’s a place where you learn stuff. You know, like tactics and magic and... Stuff.”

“And combat?” You asked, your interest piquing at the notion of learning new fighting techniques.

“Yeah, we’ll learn some of that too.” Sylvain frowned. “You really don’t have schools in Sreng?”

“We do, but… They are not for all people.” You bit your lip as you constructed your next sentence in your mind. “Only the children who are too weak to fight.”

“And here I thought you left the weak ones to die.” He grumbled, looking out the window.

“We are not barbarians.” You said stiffly, crossing your arms.

“That’s a big word.”

“It is the first word I learned.” You murmured, turning your head so that you could look out the window once again. “All Sreng children learn that word. It is what you call us, is it not?”

“Once this treaty is finished, nobody will call you that.” Sylvain muttered, earning a sidelong glance from you.

“There will always be some who do.” You turned your gaze back to the window as you spoke, not wanting to see his reaction.

He was silent for a long time, the two of you watching the scenery go by as you returned to the Gautier estate. You weren’t entirely sure where you’d been taken, but there were official-looking people there who had watched you perform drills with various weapons.

While it had been fun, you didn’t see the purpose of the exercise. They’d spoken rather quickly with Sylvain, only sparing the occasional uneasy glance at you, and then you’d both gone back to the carriage as if nothing had occurred.

You almost wanted to ask about it, but you didn’t like showing weakness. And you’d already shown plenty of that just in the few minutes you’d spent in the carriage.

“(y/n). We’re almost back.”

You opened your eyes, blinking as you realised that the scenery had changed in just a few seconds.

You must have dozed off. Looking up at Sylvain confirmed that fact, he had his arm reached out as if to shake you awake, but it looked like he had decided against it.

Perhaps he was smarter than you first thought.

“Listen, I was thinking…” He paused, looking at you thoughtfully for a moment longer. “You’re going to need to know how to read _and_ write if you’re going to be enrolling at the academy with me.”

There he was again with this ‘academy’. What was he on about?

“I can teach you,” Sylvain continued, glancing uneasily out the window of the carriage as the estate grew steadily closer. “You’ll have to meet me in the library after dinner, most of the general household staff will have retired for the night by then so we won’t be interrupted or watched.”

You nodded, feeling the carriage slow down and prepare to stop.

As the carriage door opened and a hand reached out to help you back to the ground, you spared another glance at Sylvain.

You were going to have to rethink your opinion of him. Maybe he wasn’t quite the man you’d thought he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go guys!  
I don't have any idea how long this'll be yet, but I'm aiming for weekly updates.  
That said, once Christmas starts up I'll be pretty busy at work so we'll see how this works out.


	3. A Lesson in Silence

“No, that’s not quite it either.”

“It looks the same as _that_ word.” You protested, squinting at the word you were stuck on.

“But it’s not that word.” Sylvain sighed, resting his head in his hands. “Look closely, there’s an ‘r’ next to the ‘h’. It makes the word sound completely different.”

You frowned at the word, looking between it and the previous one.

There _was_ an ‘r’ there…

But how could one letter make it sound completely different from the word ‘though’?

“Then how do you say it?” You asked, turning to look at your exasperated future husband.

“Through, (y/n).” He grumbled, not lifting his head. “It’s pronounced through.”

“Through.” You repeated, testing word out. “What does it mean?”

“You know how you walk from one room to the next?” He asked. “To do that, you go _through_ a doorway.”

“I see.” You pursed your lips, not really seeing at all.

But it made the time go quicker if you pretended to understand. 

“This is never going to work.” Sylvain stood, running one hand through his hair as he used the other to push his chair in. “Father’s not going to be happy… We could have pulled off a mute student, but an illiterate one?”

“What is… ‘Mute’?” You asked quietly, not expecting a reply as you watched the redhead pace up and down the room, muttering to himself all the while.

“It’s someone who can’t speak.” He replied almost instantly.

“You… Do not wish for me to speak?”

“Your accent would give away who you are immediately.” He continued pacing, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Not to mention your very limited vocabulary.”

“If it will be hard for me to… ‘Blend in’,” You started, your eyes following Sylvain up and down the room. “Then should I stay here?”

“I already suggested that,” He shook his head, his shoulders slumping with defeat as he finally stopped pacing. “But my father insisted that you had to come with me. Apparently the monastery is somehow going to be safer for you than our own home.”

“I am sorry to cause… Trouble.” You looked guiltily down at the page. “I do not learn well from books. It is… Hard for me.”

“Well, I guess if you don’t spend your whole life reading, you can’t really be expected to pick it up in one evening.” Sylvain straightened, another sigh escaping his lips. “Why don’t we try again tomorrow? You must be tired after today.”

You looked forlornly at the book, wanting nothing more than to throw it and its ridiculous little words into the fireplace. But you had a duty to perform, and you were hardly going to get it done by destroying every little thing that perplexed you.

Nor would you get it done by just going to bed every time you got stuck.

“I want to get it right.” You said finally, folding your hands in your lap as you looked up at the redhead.

“I don’t want you to tire yourself out,” Sylvain looked at you questioningly. “I mean, would you train well into the night until you got a sword technique right, even if it left you exhausted the next day?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… Not good for your health.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Listen, I want to help you, really I do, but I can’t keep my eyes open much longer. We can try again tomorrow, OK?”

“OK.” You relented, slowly standing up as your fatigue caught up with you.

Unfortunately for you, ‘tomorrow’ ended up being a little trickier than anticipated.

To the surprise of everyone, one Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius paid a visit to the estate, bringing his son with him. A fact that you did not find out until they were already on the property and passing by the very garden you were wandering in.

Until the margrave could be sure that he trusted all of his household staff not to let the secret out, your room had become a sanctuary of sorts. But the margrave had insisted that you spend a certain amount of time outside of the room so as not to rouse suspicions.

You often wasted that time in the gardens, simply walking around and admiring the flowers or sitting beside the pond and pretending to read a book. It got very tedious, very fast.

Which was why you weren’t paying attention and allowed yourself to be spotted by the surprise guests. A fact that you weren’t aware of until one of them was right next to you.

“Who are you?”

You jumped, turning around to find an unimpressed-looking boy with dark blue hair. He’d crossed his arms, and was looking you up and down with clear disdain.

You almost spoke, then decided against it. What was it Sylvain had said the night before? That you were to play the part of someone who couldn’t speak?

You took a step back, pressing your lips together as you stared at the boy. He stared back, though you almost wanted to call it _glaring_. It was clear that he didn’t trust you, but how could you explain your situation without giving yourself away?

“Come now, Felix,” A man strode to the boy’s side, looking at you with a curiosity that he didn’t bother trying to hide. “You’re scaring the poor girl.”

You nodded, examining the new arrival. He had the same dark hair as the boy, and if you looked close enough you could almost see a resemblance. They were family, then.

“It doesn’t change the fact that she’s a stranger on this property.” Felix scoffed, his glare growing more intense by the second. “Don’t tell me. You’re another of Sylvain’s ‘guests’, aren’t you?”

You shook your head, hoping that somebody would show up and fix this for you. Most of the household staff at least knew a basic story to give to the pair, and those who didn’t would at least lead them away from you.

“I apologise for my son,” The man sighed, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It seems he wasn’t paying attention when I told him that the margrave was hosting a young lady who he was sending to the officer’s academy next month. I presume that young lady would be you?”

You nodded slowly, hoping that it was the correct reaction. Most of the sentence had gone over your head, leaving you unsure of the topic at hand.

But there was that word again. ‘Academy’... 

Why was it that everyone you encountered seemed to speak about it as if it were something you should know about?

And why was it that nobody had told you what, exactly, was going on?

“Come now,” Rodrigue smiled kindly, removing his hand from your shoulder. “Gautier said you were shy, but I didn’t expect it would be to this extent. Tell me, what is your name?”

You panicked, unable to bring yourself to speak even if you’d wanted to. Felix was looking less impressed by the second, and Rodrigue seemed very concerned at your complete lack of a voice.

“Felix!” Sylvain appeared next to you, as if you’d somehow summoned him. “I didn’t know you’d be coming today. Ah, and I see you’ve met (y/n).”

“Sylvain.” Rodrigue greeted, inclining his head at the younger man. “I was just introducing myself to (y/n) here, but I think Felix scared her. She hasn’t said a word since we approached.”

“I’m afraid (y/n)’s not much of a talker,” Sylvain said, draping an arm around your shoulder. “Truth be told, I haven’t heard her say anything either, and she’s been here a week. Trust me, once she picks up a sword or an axe you’ll see why my father’s enrolling her in the academy.”

You looked at the hand on your shoulder disdainfully, then looked back up to find Felix watching you. His eyes narrowed and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

You schooled your expression into a more neutral one and raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say something. It was about time you stopped being afraid of everyone who showed up at the Gautiers’ doorstep; you’d never been afraid of anything back home, so why should that change now?

“Speaking of your father, I was hoping to have a word with him.” Rodrigue stepped away from Felix’s side. “Is he in his office?”

“Sure is.” Sylvain grinned, jerking his head in what you assumed was the general direction of the margrave’s office. “I’ll make sure Felix doesn’t get into any trouble while you to talk.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Rodrigue said as he walked away, an amused smile making its way onto his face just before he turned away completely.

“OK, Felix, I’ll just escort (y/n) here back to her room and then I’ll be right with you.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Uh… Excuse me?”

“You said she can fight, didn’t you?” Felix scowled as he looked you up and down for the second time that day. “Then she can spar with me. Maybe it’ll be a challenge for once.”

“Are you saying that sparring with me _isn’t_ a challenge?” Sylvain asked, unaware that he’d managed to tug you closer to him.

“Yes.” Felix crossed his arms as he spoke, and you determined that his scowl was probably a permanent feature of his face.

You tugged on Sylvain’s sleeve, stopping him before he could come up with anything to say in response. As soon as he looked down and saw your expression, he sighed.

“Alright.” He relented, rolling his eyes. “But if you get hurt I’m not going to cover for you with your father.”

You smiled brightly as Sylvain led the way to the training grounds.

This was going to be fun.


	4. Hopeless Dreams

You weren’t sure what, exactly, but you knew you’d done something wrong.

You’d beaten Felix easily enough, but as soon as he’d gotten up from the ground he and Sylvain had started having very fast, very angry words. Words you didn’t fully understand.

And then they’d left the area, and they were gone for a very long time.

In fact, by the time they returned, the training ground had been cleaned up and you were nowhere to be found.

“Probably went back to her room.” Sylvain sighed, covering his face with one hand.

“I’m surprised that barbarian could find her way to her room all on her own.” Felix sneered.

“Don’t call her that.”

“But that’s what she is.”

“Look Felix, I’ve spent a week with her already,” Sylvain whirled around, for once being the angry one in the friendship. “She’s not a barbarian! Sure, she’s a little strange but it’s crazy just how similar to us she is.”

“Why? Because she can swing a sword?” Felix scoffed, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “I hope you’re not letting your guard down just because you think she’s pretty.”

“That’s not-” Sylvain paused, closing his eyes and letting out another sigh. “Look, believe what you want about her. All I need to know is if you’re going to help me keep this a secret.”

“I suppose I’ll keep your secret. We don’t want the boar showing up and trampling all over something as delicate as this.” Felix crossed his arms, his gaze drifting to the very spot where he’d lost the spar. “But I want you to know that this plan is ridiculous. It _will_ backfire.”

“Take it up with my father, not me.” Sylvain raised both hands in surrender. “I didn’t even know about it until he sent me to collect her. It’s weird, you know? Just last week I was single and inviting pretty girls to have tea with me, and now I’m about to marry a princess.”

“A Sreng princess…” Felix mused, looking up at his friend again. “What will you do if the boar also plans a surprise visit and meets her?”

“I’ll tell him the same thing I told Rodrigue.” Sylvain shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “She doesn’t like to speak but she’s a good fighter.”

“And if he asks the reasoning behind her silence?”

“Uh…”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, my father and I were going over the logistics of the lie when you two showed up.” Sylvain retorted. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

“You’re going to have to work a lot harder if you don’t want this falling apart the moment you get to the officer’s academy.” Felix sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “And we both know she can’t go in there wielding two swords like that. She’d be telling the whole monastery where she’s from the moment she stepped into the training area.”

“I know,” Sylvain sighed too, taking a hand out of his pocket to run it through his hair. “There are a lot of things we need to do to get her ready and I don’t have a lot of time to do them. But this peace is _important_, if we can pull it off… My Crest might not matter so much anymore. I may never have to wield the Lance of Ruin.”

“Your father won’t fix things with Miklan just because you’re not fighting with Sreng anymore.” Felix scoffed, finally uncrossing his arms. “And one little peace treaty won’t change the minds of all the Kingdom nobles.”

Sylvain was saved the need for a reply when Rodrigue stopped at the entrance on the far side of the training area.

“There you two are,” He said, striding into the room with the margrave not far behind him. “I see (y/n) isn’t with you. That’s a shame, I was hoping to see those fighting skills you’d told me about.”

“I’m afraid you just missed her, Duke Fraldarius.” Sylvain sketched a lazy bow as he spoke. “She very nearly beat Felix here, but he got in a lucky blow right at the end. She retired to her room shortly after.”

Felix shot a quick, surprised look at his friend. He hadn’t won anything. But when he saw his father shoot him an inquisitive look, he gave a passive nod.

He’d only agreed to keep the secret a few minutes ago and already Sylvain was pulling him into the web of lies surrounding the entire marriage.

Typical.

**

You looked up as Sylvain entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“Look, I’m taking a big risk talking to you like this,” He said, sitting down on the chair beside your desk. “But I figure it’s OK just this once, after all, everyone’s a little busy with the duke and his son.”

“I am… Sorry.” Your gaze dropped to your lap. “Felix-”

“Will get over it.” He interrupted. “But listen, the officer’s academy we keep mentioning is going to be full of people who are trained fighters, which I’m sure you’ll love, but that means you can’t go around using Sreng techniques. Most of the Kingdom students, and some of the Alliance ones too, will recognise your style right away and then I’ll have to come up with a clever lie as to why I brought a girl from Sreng to the academy.”

You nodded, mostly understanding. It seemed you were going to have to adopt new habits, becoming less and less like the person you truly were with each passing day.

“I can teach you the Fodlan technique if you’d like,” You looked up, your eyes filled with delight at the prospect of returning to combat practice. “Now that everyone knows you’re enrolled in the academy, it won’t be that strange for people to see us doing some combat training.”

“When… Can we start?” You asked carefully, trying not to seem too eager.

“You don’t have to hide your excitement, princess.” Sylvain laughed, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “You’ve been looking bored ever since you got here, so consider it my gift to you for putting up with Felix today.”

You tilted your head, frowning slightly at his words. Why would he give you a gift for doing something as simple as letting Felix glare at you? Did he secretly enjoy watching his friend get beaten in a fight?

“What?” The redhead asked, a smile breaking out on his face.

“You are… Strange.” You said finally, giving him the smallest of smiles. “Combat is… Not a gift. It is a… A _skill_.

“I suppose teaching _you_ to fight is a big honour back in Sreng, huh?”

You nodded.

Only the best warriors could earn the privilege of teaching the royal children. And they earnt that privilege through a bloody competition that cost most of them their lives.

You still didn’t think the man sitting in front of you was a warrior, he had no visible scars and spent next to no time training… But it _was_ refreshing to be taught by someone who couldn’t tell you a gruesome story about the origin of his many scars every time you failed to perfect a technique.

Yes, Fodlan was indeed a more relaxed environment compared to the court in Sreng.

But you weren’t about to let your guard down just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we'll get to the Academy soon.
> 
> Chapters should start getting longer too!
> 
> Notes for Sreng fighting style (As per what I've cooked up in the process of writing this):  
Most warriors in Sreng are trained to dual-wield swords, thus most Kingdom and Alliance nobles can identify the signature fighting style at first glance.  
This, of course, does not mean that it's the only fighting style. You'll see in later chapters that you have a broader set of weapon skills, but you naturally have a weakness for lances as that particular weapon is despised in Sreng because of the Gautier's regular use of the Lance of Ruin.


	5. A Warrior's Fear

“Oh no, not like that.”

You paused, the pin you’d been about to put in your hair snapping shut as Sylvain hastily entered the room.

“Why not?” You asked, frowning at the redhead as he swatted your hand away from your hair.

“It’s… Not how most girls in Fodlan wear their hair,” He replied, standing between you and the mirror with a thoughtful frown. “Here, I found this and thought we could do something with it.”

He held up a thick black ribbon, grinning even as you frowned at him. Where had he gotten that ribbon?

Had it been from one of the ‘guests’ Felix spoke of? Would she be upset that you were about to be the owner of that ribbon? Did she even know?

“Relax, most of my friends have long hair so I’ve gotten some practice in over the years.” Sylvain carefully wound the ribbon around your head, tying it into a neat bow on the right side of your head, just above your ears. “There, how does that look?”

He stepped aside and you looked in the mirror, frown deepening as you slowly reached up a hand to touch the ribbon. Battle-wise, it was wholly impractical. But Sylvain looked so proud of himself…

“Pretty.” You said finally, making his grin widen.

It had been a struggle for him to teach you what ‘pretty’ actually meant. There wasn’t really a word for it back home, but your future husband had been _determined_ to get you to understand the word.

The bow really was pretty.

But you didn’t see any benefit to having it there once the fighting began.

“I’m glad you like it,” Sylvain stepped back, crossing behind you to grab the last of your bags from your bed. “Now come on, if we want to get to Garreg Mach on time we’ll need to leave soon.”

You nodded, sparing a glance in the mirror one last time as you stood. You looked almost nothing like you had when you’d arrived at the Gautier estate a month ago. With the black-and-gold uniform you were wearing, along with the ribbon Sylvain had just helped you put on…

You looked less like a Sreng princess and more like a girl born into Fodlan.

Yet another mask for you to wear.

Though you trusted Sylvain quite a bit… Even he didn’t know the real you.

The next few minutes were a blur. You said goodbye to Sylvain’s father, allowed a guard to help you into the carriage and then suddenly you were leaving the estate.

The ride was long, and you spent most of it brushing up on your reading and writing. While you weren’t exactly an expert in it, you were certainly a lot better at it than you had been when you arrived.

You’d begun to find it much easier when Sylvain started finding ways to relate it to something you did understand: Combat.

Because of that, your writing skills had developed considerably faster than anyone expected. The quill was your sword and the ink… Well, let’s not get into that.

At the very least, nobody would be able to tell that you didn’t belong.

“So, when we get there we’re going to have to be very careful.” Sylvain said about an hour into the ride, making you look over the top of the book you were slowly making your way through. “My friends are used to me acting a certain way and if I suddenly stop doing that… They’re going to get suspicious.”

“Your… ‘guests’?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He winced at the word, choosing to look out the window instead of at you.

“Felix told you, huh?”

“He did not really… Tell me.” You replied, looking back down at the page. “He asked if _I_ was one of your... ‘Guests’.”

“Of course he did.” Sylvain sighed. “Listen, my Crest makes it… Hard for me to trust people.”

You looked back up, sliding the book shut and putting it onto your lap so that he had your full attention. You were probably going to need all of your focus just to interpret what he was saying…

“There are a lot of people out there who think that marrying me, or getting their daughter to marry me, will earn them a comfortable life and more power within the Kingdom.” You nodded for him to continue, folding your hands over the book in your lap. 

“I hate it. I hate people pretending to like me just because of something I had no choice in… So I flirted with every girl I met, breaking their hearts before they could break mine. I’m not proud of it, but I figured I wasn’t going to have a choice anyway, so why bother looking for love?”

You blinked slowly, allowing yourself time to process his words and formulate a response.

He… Flirted?

You wanted to ask what ‘flirted’ even meant. But you also wanted to ask what he meant when he spoke of ‘breaking hearts’.

If you were to break a heart… That person would die, surely. The heart was, after all, the very thing that kept people alive.

Perhaps Fodlan was a much more brutal and cut-throat place than you had first thought.

If your future husband was killing girls left and right… You shuddered to imagine the kind of people you were going to encounter at the academy. Or…

No. Perhaps it was a figure of speech?

“That sounds…” You pursed your lips, searching for the word you’d learnt only a few days before. “Alone?”

“Lonely?” Sylvain laughed, smiling softly at you. “It’s not so bad.”

“I see.” You did not, in fact, see. “Crests are… Strange. In Sreng, my father is not the king because of some… Great power. He is king because he is the best warrior.”

“You mean he didn’t inherit the throne when his father died?”

“He did.” You frowned, only just now realising that there were other ways to inherit a title in Fodlan. “The old king was the best warrior… Until he lost a fight... To the death. With my father. His son.”

“That’s…” Sylvain shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the dagger sitting beside you. “Interesting.”

“The king has… Many children.” You said slowly, struggling to describe it. “But only the best can… _Inherit_ the throne.”

“And what if none of the king’s kids are ‘the best’?”

“They are… Cast out.”

“Were you…?”

“No.” You replied quickly. Probably too quickly, judging by the look on his face. “I have a… A _duty_.”

“Still,” the redhead looked out the window. “That sounds rough.”

“It was… not so bad.” You replied, offering him a tiny smile when he looked your way again. He looked surprised to hear you use the same phrase he’d used earlier, then smiled himself. “But now you see why I cannot… Uh… _Could not_ read or write.”

“You know, I don’t think I’d mind running away from all of this and living in Sreng.” You tilted your head at his comment, a deep frown on your face. “It sounds like Crests mean nothing over there. I could get used to that.”

“No.” You muttered darkly, earning another look of surprise from Sylvain. “Your Crest… Means death for me… For all in Sreng.”

He shifted uncomfortably again, the dagger beside you earning another look. You sighed, forcing your muscles to relax. You had scared him, it seemed.

“But you…” You leant forward, gently placing one of your hands on his own. “You are… _Kind_ to me.”

Sylvain’s gaze lingered on your hand, and you slowly withdrew it. He almost looked disappointed, but you couldn’t quite tell. Somehow he’d managed to hide his emotions better than he had when you’d first met.

And once again you were forced to re-evaluate your opinion of him. Every time you thought you’d gotten a read on him… He surprised you.

He wore so many masks that you wondered how he managed to keep track of them all.

As you picked up your book once again you realised that you, too, had an awful lot of masks. 

And you weren’t entirely sure how you kept track of them either.


	6. A Warning Long Forgotten

When you first learnt that you were going to Fodlan, you did not think you would be meeting the king of Faerghus for quite some time.

Or, at all, really.

But somehow he had been the first person you met upon entering the Academy.

Sylvain had helped you out of the carriage, taken your hand, and dragged you past Felix and a blonde girl whose brow furrowed at the sight of you. He’d only stopped when you were both standing directly in front of a tall blond boy.

He looked at least a year younger than you, but you could already tell that he was a strong individual. Far stronger than you could ever hope to be. You shuddered slightly at the realisation that it was, perhaps, because of his Crest.

You glanced at Sylvain. Was he that strong as well? Or were there more Crests that you’d never seen before?

“Sylvain, how did I know you’d arrive with a girl on your arm?” The boy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Easy there, your highness. That’s not what this is,” Sylvain replied, letting go of your hand and clasping his own hands behind his head. “I’m sure you’re aware that my father sponsored a talented young lady so that she could come to the academy this year?”

Ah. So this was the crown prince of Faerghus. 

“Yes, I suppose I did hear about that. I must admit, we were all quite surprised to hear about it...” The boy mused, curiosity lining his gaze as he looked at you properly. “Ah, where are my manners? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.”

You bowed, deciding it was in your best interests not to speak, even when there were only a few people around who could hear you.

There was a long, silent pause. Dimitri frowned, waiting for you to speak.

“Oh, right, sorry your highness,” Sylvain said, breaking the silence with an easy grin. “This is (y/n), she uh… She’s a bit shy, so she doesn’t really talk all that much. If at all.”

“I see.” The prince murmured, looking you over once again before a gentle smile appeared on his face. “Well, I look forward to getting to know you better over the coming year, (y/n).”

“Were you going to introduce us, Sylvain?” A feminine voice asked from behind you, making you turn around quickly, your hand immediately going to the dagger at your side.

“Easy, (y/n).” Sylvain soothed, putting his hand over yours. “I knew you were good in a fight but those reflexes are a little scary.”

You blinked, looking first at the redhead and then at the blonde girl before you. She was clearly assessing you, her lips pressed into a tight line as she tried to figure you out. Felix stood beside her with his usual scowl, but this time he at least looked slightly impressed by your actions too.

“When Felix told me your father had sponsored a girl so she could come to the academy this year, I could hardly believe it.” The blonde said finally, her frown melting into a smile. “In any case, it will be nice to get to know someone new while I’m here. You may call me Ingrid.”

You nodded, letting your hand drop back to your side as you forced yourself to relax.

“Ingrid is the heir to House Galatea.” Sylvain explained, his hands moving behind his head. “And you already met Felix, based on the look on his face I’d say he’d prefer to be sparring with you than talking though.”

“I would.” Felix replied, his arms crossing automatically. “I’ve been training since we last fought, I hope you haven’t been letting your skills waste away like Sylvain.”

“My skills are not _wasting_-”

“You have already fought (y/n)?” Dimitri asked, cutting off Sylvain’s protests.

Ingrid shot the prince a grateful smile, and you wondered if the two often had to break up fights between Felix and your fiancé before they could begin.

“He sure did.” To his credit, Sylvain recovered quickly. “Challenged her to a fight within five minutes of meeting her. I thought I moved fast, but that was _something else_.”

“You said she could fight.” Felix shrugged. “Since you’re prone to dishonesty I took it upon myself to prove that claim.”

“Prone to dishonesty?” Sylvain scoffed, crossing his arms in mock anger. “Come on, I don’t lie that much. Especially not to my friends!”

You turned to the redhead, looking up at him with a thoughtful look. You blinked once. Twice.

He broke.

“OK, so maybe I lie a little bit to you guys.” He relented, looking away from your powerful gaze.

Your frown deepened, and you watched him fidget for a few moments longer. Ingrid put a hand to her mouth, stifling a quiet laugh.

“Can you stop that?” He asked, risking another glance at you. “Alright, _fine_, maybe Felix is right. But I don’t lie about things like fighting talent, especially not when Felix is around to prove me wrong.”

You smiled.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone break Sylvain quite that quickly.” Dimitri mused, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I think you’ll fit in nicely here, (y/n).”

“If the five of you are about finished,” A man said as he strode up behind Dimitri, his arms clasped behind his back. “I will show you to your classroom.”

“Of course.” Dimitri nodded, gesturing for the green-haired man to lead the way. “That would be incredibly helpful. But before we leave, we seem to be missing someone-”

“Your highness.”

You jumped, unable to stop yourself from drawing your dagger at the newcomer, who had effectively snuck up on you.

The green-haired man rose an eyebrow, his expression oozing disapproval. “While we do not have a policy against students carrying blades with them at the academy, we do have one against drawing them outside of the training grounds without proper reason. Please refrain from doing so again, or I will be forced to confiscate it.”

You nodded, glancing up at the tall man who had appeared next to you as you sheathed the dagger.

“Are you unable to even offer an apology?”

You blinked, unsure of how to react to the pointed question. Whoever this man was, it was becoming clear to you that you’d already gotten onto his bad side, just by getting startled.

You glanced up at Sylvain helplessly, wondering how you were going to survive the next year here without giving yourself away. It was already quite different from any of the places you had trained in Sreng, by sheer virtue of your not being allowed to draw your weapon whenever you pleased.

This place was strange indeed.

He narrowed his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips as he regarded you in your semi-panicked state.

“I understand one of you is unable to speak,” He finally said. “Am I correct in presuming it is the young lady with the dagger?”

“You sure are.” Sylvain agreed, taking the opportunity to sling his arm around your shoulders.

You flashed the redhead a grateful smile, while Ingrid’s eyes narrowed with disapproval. She clearly disliked his behaviour, but refrained from saying anything for the time being.

You suddenly felt an unexpected pang of pity for Sylvain.

“Very well.” The green-haired man sighed once more, turning away from the group to lead the way. “I will have a word with the two of you later in regards to how we will address this. In the meantime, I will have to ask that she does not wander off alone, lest she is questioned by a knight who is unaware of her… Situation.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at his words. Whoever he was, this man was far more perceptive than the rest of your group perceived him to be.

It seemed that while Sylvain believed he’d gotten away with the lie, he was wholly incorrect.

And that green hair…

It was unnerving to see a hair-colour that was so… Unnatural.

According to Sylvain, the archbishop herself also had green hair, which struck you as odd. Green… An almost impossible colour to find even for someone’s eyes in Sreng, yet somehow was the natural colouring of the hair _and_ eyes of not one, but two people in Fodlan.

Both working in the same institution.

Something nagged at the back of your mind, something you had been told many years ago. The information screamed to be let out, but you could only recall the encounter instead of the words spoken.

You had been warned of something…

You shook your head slightly, blinking a few times to clear your head.

Now was not the time to be distracted, you couldn’t afford to fixate on it.

For now, you would simply have to let the flow of time, and your instincts, guide you to where you needed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That feel when you're so busy playing Pokemon that you forget you're in the middle of writing a fic.
> 
> Anyway, we're finally at the academy, so things will (hopefully) start getting more interesting! I actually have a lot of chapters written out already, I just want to keep the posts spaced out so that I have more time to keep writing out chapters and you guys don't get stuck with months of no updates because I got writer's block or something!
> 
> Thank you for reading, I wasn't really going to write this story but here I am! I'm really grateful for all the kudos/bookmarks/etc. and I'm glad you're all enjoying it so far!


	7. The Embodiment of Distrust

A plate dropped onto the table across from you.

You spared a glance upward, finding the boy whose reputation preceded him.

“May I?” He asked, sitting down without waiting for your response.

You looked back down at your plate, wondering how you’d been unfortunate enough to be noticed by the leader of the Golden Deer house.

Ah, that’s right.

Because Sylvain abandoned you every chance he got to flirt with girls and ‘maintain the charade’. And the other Blue Lions were doing their own things around the place for their day off, meaning you were eating alone in the dining hall once more.

And it was hard not to spot someone sitting at a table alone, especially when the rest of the room was relatively busy.

You had been at the monastery for almost a month now, with a battle against some bandits looming. But you hadn’t exactly made friends. It was hard to do so when you weren’t able to speak.

You’d been tempted to kill that charade more than once, mostly just to spite the boy who’d unexpectedly left you to your own devices despite all of his warnings about the ‘dangers’ of the place.

So far the most dangerous thing you’d run into was a dog that had almost knocked you over in its excitement.

But somehow, despite being absent almost all the time, he’d managed to guilt you into staying silent. You weren’t really used to the feeling.

You’d never had to feel guilty about anything in Sreng. Be it murder or blatantly ignoring the affections of every single suitor… You’d never really felt guilt until arriving in Fodlan. It was incredibly inconvenient.

“I was about to mention that you’re not particularly talkative,” Claude began, flashing you a grin as you looked up at him once more. “But I suppose that’s weirdly accurate, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, stabbing your fork into the food on your plate.

Claude von Riegan. A name that quickly made its way around the academy. Before even meeting him, you already knew that he was a schemer, far too curious for his own good, and that he’d magically shown up just over a year ago.

Not that you really cared about the Lorenz part of that information. You weren’t really sure you even knew who he was just yet. Sylvain said you’d know him when you saw him, but that didn’t help in any way, shape or form.

“Something about you has been odd ever since classes started,” Claude continued. “I saw you sparring with Felix earlier, and you actually beat him. It was kind of impressive.”

You tried to stop the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth, but all you managed to do was make it smaller than it wanted to be.

“But I did notice that your fighting style was… Different, somehow.” He narrowed his eyes, his food forgotten as he examined you. “I can’t put my finger on it, but you definitely didn’t learn the Fodlan style of fighting while you were growing up, and it shows.”

You blinked, your smile dropping as you tried to figure out how he could have spotted it. Not even an experienced fighter like Jeralt had been able to catch the slight differences you displayed due to the training you’d received over your childhood.

Claude just stared at you for a long time, his gaze feigning simple curiosity even as you sensed the question beneath. It seemed that he’d decided to use your facial expressions to get the information he couldn’t get from your words. Clever…

But you were one step ahead.

You kept your stare blank, your expression neutral. He stared for what seemed like years before a grin broke out on his face and he winked at you.

“Maybe I’m just thinking too much into it.” He laughed, finally starting to eat. “But I must admit, I _am_ quite curious about you. You only met Sylvain right before you came to the academy, but somehow he hasn’t gotten bored with you.”

You, too, started eating.

“I guess if I want to find out what’s going on behind that mask of yours, I’m going to have to do it the old fashioned way, huh?” You gave Claude a half-smile in response to his words.

“Trying to steal my classmates already, Claude?” Dimitri sat down next to you. “I know (y/n) performed excellently in the mock battle, but it’s just a bit rude, don’t you think?”

“Actually, I was just having a pleasant conversation with our silent friend here.” Claude replied, turning his attention to the prince. “Isn’t that right, (y/n)?”

You looked up at Claude, then to Dimitri, then back to Claude.

You shrugged noncommittally.

Claude coughed, patting his chest in an attempt to stop himself from choking on his food, while Dimitri laughed.

“Man, I really thought we were hitting it off!” Mock despair filled Claude’s face as he spoke, making you smile slightly.

“It looks to me like you’ll need to change your tactics,” Dimitri mused, pointing his fork at the other house leader. “But I will warn you, I don’t intend to let you recruit her easily.”

“I’ll trade you for Lorenz.” Claude suggested with a playful smirk.

“I think Lorenz is happy enough where he is.” Dimitri replied, jerking his head in the direction of a purple-haired noble, who was in the process of getting yelled at by Lysithea.

“Lorenz? Happy?” Claude snorted, going back to his own meal. “Not while _I’m_ the future leader of the Alliance. The dude’s had it out for me from day one.”

You paused, frowning at Claude’s words. If Lorenz had wanted Claude gone, why hadn’t he just taken him out of the picture already? With every word you heard, Fodlan politics became more and more drawn out and… Frankly quite pointless.

“That would be because he thought he would be the next Sovereign Duke before you came along.” Dimitri said, bringing some clarity to Claude’s comments.

The prince shot you a quick, reassuring smile. It seemed that he knew you weren’t exactly up to date with all the politics in Fodlan and was trying to help where he could. Sylvain was probably to blame for that, but you could hardly fault him for finding his own ways to help you out without actually being present.

“Look, I didn’t crush his dreams on purpose.” Claude retorted. “I didn’t even know I had a Crest of Riegan until the thing activated! But he somehow still thinks I’m an imposter, it’s ridiculous. Not to mention exhausting.”

You continued your meal, letting the two talk over you about politics and dealing with stubborn classmates. The words washed over you, most of them losing all meaning, and before you knew it, you were finished.

You stood up without really thinking about it, picking up your plate so you could take it to be cleaned. But you paused when you noticed the two boys’ eyes on you.

“Finished already, (y/n)?” Dimitri asked, making you look away in embarrassment.

You’d always been a fast eater back home, especially with all the people you had to sit and dine with every day and night. Not only could they attempt to take the food off of your plate (one such attempt left the man with one less finger), but they could also find ways to poison the food.

Thus, it was better to eat quickly, once you’d determined that it wasn’t poisoned before even being set in front of you. But apparently eating quickly was… Not the norm for a noblewoman. It was, however, a habit you were unable to break.

So whenever anyone brought it up, you felt… Self-conscious.

Another feeling you’d never had need of in Sreng. And it was just as inconvenient and irrational as guilt.

“She did get here before us, your princeliness.” Claude said, drawing your gaze back to the pair. “Not to mention, she doesn’t have to pause to talk.”

“I suppose you’re right, Claude.” Dimitri mused, looking first at the other house leader, then back up at you. “But please, (y/n), sit with us a while longer. Once I’ve finished I’d be happy to spar with you for a while until the rest of the Blue Lions return for the day.”

You forced yourself to smile, shaking your head right before you faked a yawn. Dimitri nodded in understanding, and you turned away from the pair.

Once you were gone, Claude looked over at the prince of Faerghus with a curious frown.

“There’s something off about that girl.” He said finally, putting his fork down as he thought. “Sometimes I wonder if she can even understand us.”

“She does alright in class.” Dimitri replied, glancing around the room. “But you are correct, there is definitely something strange afoot. And I suspect that we’re not going to be getting answers from her, or Sylvain for that matter, any time soon.”

“Speaking of Sylvain,” Claude frowned thoughtfully. “(y/n)’s one pretty girl, yet he hasn’t even tried to flirt with her once.”

“Well, she _is_ quite the fighter,” Dimitri mused, putting his own fork down as he glanced back to the door you had exited from. “And she wasn’t exactly subtle with that dagger of hers when she first arrived. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d threatened to use it on him.”

“Those two seem way too cozy for that to be the case.” Claude leant forward, looking around to make sure no one was listening in. “She talks to Sylvain you know. The other day I saw them deep in conversation, but I couldn’t get any closer without making my presence known.”

“Sylvain said she was shy, not incapable of speech.” Dimitri pointed out, clasping his hands in front of his face.

“If you were Sylvain, and you wanted to hide something about a girl from everyone at the academy… And if you knew her voice would give it away…”

“You’re saying she’s not shy? Just hiding something?”

“Bingo, your princeliness. I just wish I could figure out what. That girl can keep her expression as neutral as your professor when she wants to.”

“I imagine that’s what makes her such a good fighter.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Claude stood, picking up his plate with a respectful nod at Dimitri. “I’m going to keep thinking about it, maybe I’ll uncover something I missed.”

“Claude.” Dimitri said seriously, looking up at his fellow student. “There may very well be nothing amiss here, so please, try not to throw around baseless accusations. She’s still my classmate, and my friend, so I’d prefer to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“Yeah, benefit of the doubt. Sure thing.” Claude replied, moving away as quickly as he could once he noticed Hubert and Edelgard watching them from their table across the room.

He was going to have to work a lot harder if he wanted to keep his investigation a secret from _those two_. Yes, Claude certainly had his work cut out for him, but if his suspicions were correct…

His dream might not be as difficult to achieve as he first thought.


	8. A Mask of Indifference

You didn’t have a problem with death. Not anymore.

Nor did you have much of a problem with people trying to kill you.

In Sreng, that had been reason enough for you to end someone’s life. And you had.

But there was a difference between killing someone who had wronged you, and killing simply because a higher power had asked it of you. With the first, you walked away with no guilt and one less enemy on the board.

But the second… Well, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being used. That you were nothing but a weapon, or a pawn in a game that you weren’t supposed to know about. It left a bad taste in your mouth.

But showing any weakness left an even worse taste. And it invited others to exploit that weakness for their own gains, or even for your ultimate defeat. You could never afford to show weakness.

Ever.

And now that you were playing the game… You couldn’t run away either.

Cowards deserved no mercy.

The professor had said that the church wanted none of the bandits to escape, so when one of them tried to run just at the sight of you and your classmates… That very mindset kicked in.

You hefted your throwing axe, calmly stepping forward and throwing it with deadly accuracy. The kind of accuracy a throwing axe should not have had. Especially not in the hands of someone with your size and stature.

The axe sunk into his back easily enough, and the man let out a guttural scream before falling to the ground, dead. There was a thick silence for a few moments, your classmates looking first at you, and then at the bandit you’d just killed.

The bandits did the same, looking first at their downed comrade then up at you as you silently drew your sword. The professor glanced at you, nodding solemnly as she drew her own sword.

And then the battle began in earnest.

After crossing the bridge, Byleth split the class. You stayed in the half that followed the professor, which meant taking on the brunt of the bandits’ forces.

You handled the first bandit that attacked you easily enough. You side-stepped his lance, glancing down as it flew threw the space you’d just been occupying, and delivered a swift blow to his shoulder. He cried out, dropping his lance immediately, giving you the perfect opportunity to plunge your sword into his chest.

He slumped forward, and you muttered a quiet prayer that encouraged his ghost to move on to the afterlife as you pulled your sword free.

The next attack wasn’t directed at you; Ashe had nimbly fended off and defeated a bandit, but failed to notice another sneaking up beside him. You ran forward, shoving your classmate out of the way before you threw your sword up, blocking the swing of an axe just in time.

The axe inched closer, and time slowed down as you gritted your teeth, pooling all of your strength into holding it back. With a surge of adrenaline you shoved the axe backward, using your momentum to continue pushing the bandit backward until he fell to the ground. You finished him off swiftly, ignoring the warm splatter of blood on your face as you crouched beside the body, muttering another prayer.

You stood, turning to Ashe and giving him a solemn nod. He swallowed, his face pale, and nodded back.

So he, like many of the others, had never taken a life before. You took a moment to close your eyes, wondering how many of these kids had just crossed a line they could not uncross. And you wondered how many of them would break under the weight of that knowledge.

You’d first killed another being at a young age, and you’d been training and preparing yourself to do so from a younger one. But even so… You had almost broken a few times despite that.

Your eyes opened, bringing the fight back into focus. You still had a lot to do.

Weakness had no place on the battlefield.

Your professor signalled for the group to move forward, leading the way to where the bandit leader was holed up. You took down a nearby archer with Annette’s help, and when you turned around to find Byleth, she was slowly circling the bandit leader.

To his credit, he did not run.

But he also did not have much skill compared to Byleth, who easily bested him in a duel and ended his life.

You mouthed another prayer, looking down at the ground as you did so in the hopes that no one would notice.

The class regrouped shortly after, and Byleth’s eyes landed on you with a raised eyebrow.

“Yours?” She asked, gesturing to her face.

You tilted your head, frowning in confusion.

“You’ve got a little something there, (y/n).” Sylvain supplied, trying to make light of the situation.

Ingrid smacked his shoulder, stopping him from saying anything more.

You wiped your face with your sleeve, the lighter fabric coming away stained a dark red. You examined it for a moment, then looked up at Byleth and shook your head.

“Good.” Your professor said, her gaze moving from one student to the next as she attempted to ascertain if anyone had been wounded and was trying to hide it.

While everyone else in your class looked more or less alright, Ashe was clearly shaken by his near-death experience. You walked towards him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

The faraway look in his eyes melted away, replaced first by fear and then recognition. You gave him a small smile, entirely sympathetic to his situation.

And then he was hugging you.

You stiffened, every instinct you had screaming at you to _make it stop_. You almost panicked, your breath catching in your throat as you remembered the last time you had allowed someone to hug you.

You’d almost died that day.

But you caught Sylvain’s gaze, and he nodded encouragingly, dispelling your fears.

This was Fodlan. Not Sreng.

You hesitantly wrapped your arms around Ashe’s shoulders, pulling him as close as you dared in such a delicate situation.

You weren’t really sure how to go about comforting someone, how long were you supposed to prolong the hug?

Were you meant to pat his back?

“Thank you.” Ashe whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. “You saved my life.”

You smiled, looking around at the rest of your class.

Not one of them said a word, and you had a feeling that not one of them would speak of this moment when you all returned to the monastery either. It was a secret, shared among friends.

You pulled away first, unable to ignore your instincts any longer. Ashe looked grateful, but his eyes hid another emotion, one you weren’t sure he was even aware he was feeling.

Sure, you had saved his life, but you had done it in such a brutal and efficient manner that… Perhaps he was afraid of you.

And as you marched back to the monastery with the rest of your class, blood-stained and battle-weary…

Deep down you knew that he was right to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't tell if this chapter is a complete mess or if I wrote a very coherent piece.
> 
> Anywho, sorry for the wait! I work retail so December is craaaaaazy busy for me. But I am slowly but surely grinding out those chapters.


	9. A Fractured Memory

_“You cannot let anyone best you. Ever.”_

_You looked up at your instructor, barely strong enough to hold the toy sword she’d given you. Barely old enough to understand what death actually was._

_“As a member of the royal family, you must prove yourself worthy of the throne at every opportunity.” The lean, sour-faced woman looked down at you, her expression hard and unreadable. “And as the king’s favourite child, you’re going to have to work doubly hard if you want to survive through to next year.”_

Your eyes opened, finding the still unfamiliar roof of your doom room above you. Light filtered through the crack between the door and its frame, but that wasn’t what had woken you.

Footsteps sounded outside your door, quiet and slow.

In one swift movement you had grabbed your dagger from your bedside table, crossed the room and opened your door to find a very surprised Claude.

“How in the-” He cut himself off, shaking his head with a sigh. “Nevermind. Did I… Wake you?”

You nodded, tapping your ear with your free hand before pointing at his feet. He looked down, brow furrowed before he realised.

“You heard my footsteps? Colour me impressed, I thought I was being perfectly silent.” Claude grinned, looking back up at you. “Light sleeper?”

You gave him a puzzled frown.

What, exactly, was a ‘sleeper’? And what did its weight have to do with anything?

Not to mention that you were pretty sure ‘impressed’ was not a colour.

“You know, sometimes it feels like you don’t understand a word that I’m saying.” Claude’s grin grew wider, but you still didn’t quite trust him.

He was definitely up to something.

Your frown melted into an emotionless stare, and you maintained eye-contact without blinking. His grin disappeared, quickly replaced by a strange frown as his head tilted slightly.

You crossed your arms, careful to do it so the dagger in your hand wouldn’t harm you.

Every time you considered looking away, your dream came back to you in full force.

_You cannot let anyone best you._

“Claude. (y/n).” Dedue’s voice finished the impromptu competition before either of you could find a winner.

Your gaze snapped to the taller boy, who was standing just outside of his room with arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.

You hadn’t spoken with Dedue much. And he hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to speak to you either, something about his Duscur heritage making him untrustworthy.

Ah, if only these people knew about _your_ heritage.

“Oh, Dedue, good morning!” Claude grinned, his hands going behind his head as he took a step back from you. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Rumours spread quickly here.” Dedue replied, ignoring Claude’s question entirely. “I suggest you refrain from being seen outside (y/n)’s room and staring at her in her sleep wear if you do not wish for anyone to get the wrong idea.”

Your cheeks warmed as you realised that you had gotten directly out of bed to find the source of the noise. And you’d been standing in the doorway of your room in the loose but practical clothing you slept in.

The clothes weren’t particularly revealing, but it was still embarrassing to be caught out like that. And they weren’t exactly what normal Fodlan girls wore, but Sylvain had relented on that one point because no one was really going to see you in them anyway.

Until today, that is.

“Right. Yes, I will refrain from doing so in the future.” Claude replied, only slightly flustered by the realisation. “Again, I’m sorry for waking you (y/n). I’ll see you guys around.”

And then he was gone, almost as quickly and quietly as he had arrived.

“Be careful with Claude.” Dedue said after a short silence. “I have noticed him watching you with great interest. Be mindful of your surroundings in future.”

You nodded numbly, turning to walk back into your room.

“(y/n).” You turned back at the sound of Dedue’s voice. “You fight like someone who has killed many times before. His highness finds it… Distressing.”

You tilted your head, as if to ask ‘_And you?_’

“I… Think you should be careful.” He studied you for a moment before continuing. “You are not a heartless killer. If you want everyone else to see that, you will have to prove it.”

You watched him for a few moments longer.

Then turned on one heel and shut your door behind you.

Your year was about to get more interesting.

**  
_  
You narrowed your eyes as you watched the envoy who, despite his Fodlan looks, spoke your language almost fluently._

_He said he brought a message of peace from King Lambert of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, but his words only made the rest of the court laugh._

_Peace was such a foreign word in this court. And to many, a useless one._

_But your father listened intently, pretending to look bored while his keen mind processed the offer. No more border skirmishes meant no more meaningless deaths._

_And no more of the Death Lance. The glowing orange lance that had cut down countless Sreng warriors as if they’d had no training at all. Perhaps this ‘King Lambert’ would share the secrets of that lance with Sreng, allowing for a stronger army._

_Your siblings smirked, each one of them expecting this envoy to be beheaded at any moment. But you knew something was about to happen._

_Yes… Something was about to change._

Sylvain dropped onto the bench next to you with a sigh.

“Heard Claude’s been giving you trouble.” He said, drawing your attention from the skies above you.

You looked around, making sure nobody was in sight before daring to respond.

“He is… Curious.” You murmured, angling your body to face the redhead next to you.

“Too curious for his own good.” Sylvain snorted, crossing his arms. “Something about him doesn’t smell right.”

“Smell… right?” You cocked your head, frowning at the expression. “He smells of tea…”

“No, that’s not- how do you- _why_ did you- nevermind.” He sighed, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “I meant that he’s suspicious. He’s definitely hiding something.”

“So am I.” You said simply, clasping your hands over your lap.

“Yeah, I know.” He looked up at the pegasi flying over the monastery. “Just... Be careful around him. Avoid him, if you can.”

“Dedue said… The same thing.” You looked around once more, painfully aware of how open the area was.

How easy it would be to sneak up on you.

“Yeah, Dedue’s a smart guy.” Sylvain mused, leaning into the bench and resting his arms across the back. “But people tend to only look at him as far as the fact that he’s from Duscur. It’s such a waste, only myself and Dimitri seem to see him as a _person_.”

“He said I was…” You pursed your lips, struggling to recall the word. “_Distressing_.”

“Distressing?” Sylvain went from relaxed to alert in only a few seconds, he sat up properly almost immediately. “What do you mean by that?”

“He… He said I fight like…” You trailed off, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Like someone who has killed before.”

Sylvain relaxed immediately.

“Oh. That.” He slumped back into the bench again. “Dimitri’ll get over that. In fact, Ashe was telling him about some of the stuff you did during that bandit fight that nobody else seemed to see. Apparently you were muttering something after you killed a bandit…?”

“A prayer.” You replied, looking down into your lap. “So they do not… Stay dead?”

“Stay dead…?”

“The soul needs to… _Move on_.”

“Oh.” Sylvain laughed, lightly tapping your shoulder with his hand. “You mean so they don’t haunt the battlefield?”

“Yes!” You nodded. “Haunt…”

“OK, but I was watching you the whole time after you took down that first one.” His expression grew serious once more. “And you didn’t pray for him.”

“He ran.” Your own smile dropped. “Those who run… Do not deserve a prayer.”

“I guess it’s an honour thing, huh? He was a coward who abandoned his friends, so he shouldn’t be helped along?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure that’s something I’ll ever understand.” Sylvain shook his head, standing from the bench as bells rang throughout the courtyard. “It’s OK to run when you’re afraid… Not that I ever had the courage to run when I had the chance.”

“I... Do not understand.” You tilted your head, your brain working double-time to keep up. “You… Did not have the _courage_ to… Be afraid?”

“I’ll explain later.” He gave you a sad smile, holding out his hand to help you up from the bench. “Right now, I think it’s about time we met the others in the dining hall, don’t you?”

You reluctantly took his hand, knowing that it was only polite to accept his offer of help. Sylvain shot you a teasing grin, apparently well aware of your aversion to accepting help when it was offered.

But before either of you could go anywhere, Byleth rounded the corner and approached, her face betraying no emotion.

“(y/n), would you mind coming to the classroom with me for a moment?” She asked, filling you with a sense of uneasiness. “I’d like to discuss the mission for this month.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy did this take me a while.
> 
> Happy new year, happy holidays/merry christmas an all that jazz. My work schedule is finally not crazy and I'm excited to actually have time to write! This chapter feels like filler but I promise it's important (which I'm sure everyone says about filler >.>).
> 
> As for the bit about haunting, I have absolutely had a conversation with my French teacher along those lines. Where I know one complicated word but not a more simple one. Learning a language is wild.


	10. The Skirt-Chaser's Conscience

When you entered the classroom, you found Professor Hanneman waiting there, as well as… Claude.

Of course.

He gave you a lazy grin and a small wave as you entered, and you began to suspect that he was a lot more persistent than you gave him credit for. He seemed determined to figure you out, but you weren’t about to let that fact rattle you.

“Wow, Teach, you found her pretty fast.” Claude commented, hopping off of the table he’d been sitting on. “I never seem to be able to figure out where she might be.”

“That would be because you don’t spend even half as much time around her as I do.” Byleth replied curtly, her expression unchanged. “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin.”

“Have you explained the situation to miss (y/n)?” Hanneman asked, adjusting his monocle as he spoke.

“From the look on her face, I’d say no.” Claude said, not giving Byleth a chance to reply. “That’s OK. I can do it.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you stared across the room at the house leader.

“Our class is investigating some robberies on the road to the monastery, and we were planning on setting up a trap for whoever the perpetrator is.” Claude placed his hands behind his head, his grin growing wider. “But we’re in need of one more person for my plan to work, so I suggested we borrow one from another house.”

“I was originally against the idea, but I asked Dimitri for his opinion and he recommended you.” Byleth continued, crossing her own arms with a slight sigh. “Considering the unpredictable nature of a war zone, I thought it would be good to keep you around, but Dimitri suggested that the others may find your fighting style… Unsettling.”

She placed a hand on your shoulder, her scarily blank gaze resting on you as she continued.

“It’s up to you of course, but fighting militia is very different to fighting bandits.” She said softly. “You and I are survivors, we’ll fight against just about anybody if it means we can keep on living. But the others… They aren’t used to this. Not yet.”

You nodded solemnly, glancing at her hand on your shoulder uneasily. Your professor was one of three people in the monastery who you couldn’t maintain eye-contact with, the other two being Seteth and the Archbishop herself.

Whenever you looked at any of them… It felt as if they were staring right through you and all the masks you wore. Like they _knew_ who you truly were, deep down. And it was a little terrifying. No one had ever been able to instill such a strong feeling of unease in you before, and now you had to deal with three people who could on an almost daily basis.

But somehow you felt that you could at least trust Byleth.

Claude, on the other hand…

You sighed, deciding it would be better to go along with whatever crazy plan he had concocted rather than let him come up with something even worse. 

This was really going to suck.

**

Maybe it was just paranoia, or maybe he’d gotten so used to looking out for his future wife that he just instinctively did it whenever he got to class. Whatever the reason, Sylvain was the first to notice that she wasn’t in class.

“Uh, professor?” He asked, earning the gaze of every other student in the room. “I can’t help but notice that we’re down a beautiful, but silent classmate.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes from her seat next to him.

His gut twisted, wondering how he’d managed to care so much about a girl who’d brought him nothing but trouble from the moment she stepped across the border and into Fodlan. He hated it. Hated the marriage. Hated _her_.

But that wasn’t the truth, he didn’t hate her. He wanted to. Goddess knows, he wanted to. But he couldn’t blame her for their present situation, nor could he really blame himself. They were both just pawns in a greater game, trying their best to make it across the board in one piece.

“You’re very perceptive, Mister Gautier.” Byleth replied, not looking up from the book sitting on her podium. “Though I suspect that’s only the case if there’s a girl involved.”

A quiet laugh echoed around the room, then his professor looked up and directly at him.

“Professor Hanneman requested that I loan him one of my students for the Golden Deer’s upcoming mission, I selected (y/n).” She said calmly, turning to the blackboard. “So for the time being, she will be having classes with them.”

“Excuse me?” Sylvain spoke before his brain could tell him to keep his mouth shut.

“She’ll be back next month, mister Gautier.” Byleth sighed, beginning to write. “And I’m sure you’ll be able to find her in the monastery when classes are not on... Unless you have a compelling reason as to why I should not allow her to go?”

“No.” Sylvain sighed, looking down at his desk. “Sorry, professor.”

He got back to work, worried about her even now. The longer she stayed in the Golden Deer classroom, the more time Claude had to figure out who she was. What he would do with that information… Well, only the Goddess knew.

And only the Goddess knew what Sylvain would do if she were found out and sent back to Sreng. Or worse, killed by someone with a grudge.

She was the one constant in his life. The one person who saw past his Crest and his heritage. There was a time when he thought she disliked him, purely because his Crest, his family and his relic had caused her people so much strife. And yet…

_”You are… Kind to me.”_

He kept going back to that conversation. That moment. Why, oh why, had she gone and said that?

Those words had really struck a chord with him. He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had said he was _kind_ without taking it back the very next day. In fact, he kept expecting her to take it back, to tell him she hated him.

He almost wanted her to hate him. His was the family that had been warring with her own for generations. His was the family she was being forced to spend the rest of her life with. And his was the Crest that she subconsciously feared.

He’d feel a lot better about this whole situation if she just hated him.

Instead she was patient and trusting. She was trying _so hard_ to fit in at the academy, to act like someone she wasn’t just so she could belong. She was working so hard, simply because he’d asked her to. It wasn’t something he would have done if the situation had been reversed, that was for sure.

No, she didn’t blame him for any of this.

And he really wished she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, the plot is thickening.
> 
> I meant to finish this last week but I got called into work a bunch.
> 
> Anywho! I'm hoping to get one more chapter out before next Monday, and then expect me to go dark for a little while because I'm moving! It will take a bit for me to get settled and then for me to keep writing, but I'll try and steal some time to write wherever I can!


	11. Inexplicable Unrest

Sylvain couldn’t put his finger on it, but class felt… _Wrong_.

Everyone seemed restless, not quite focused.

And it was quieter, somehow.

How the classroom could be quieter when someone who never spoke was missing, he just didn’t know. But it made him uneasy, and that feeling seemed to be prevalent in the rest of his classmates too.

Ingrid and Ashe, normally so attentive, were caught off-guard by questions.

Felix stormed out more often.

Even Dimitri was struggling to keep up a calm facade.

Annette was still scribbling down everything the professor said, but it looked more like she was doing it out of habit than out of any desire to learn. Which was weird, because Annette _always_ wanted to learn.

The professor had clearly picked up on the restless feelings of her students, but pressed on as only a mercenary could. By setting aside her feelings so that she could get the job done.

It seemed that (y/n), despite never saying a word to anyone, had actually made a big impact on the lives of everyone in the class. Yes, the way she’d disposed of the bandits had been… Troubling.

But this was far, far worse.

Somehow, her silent presence was a deeply ingrained, and necessary, part of the classroom. And now that she wasn’t sitting her usual seat, writing down everything the professor said so she could go over it later, it was painfully obvious just how much presence she actually had.

Ah. Perhaps that was it?

The sound of Annette’s scribbling was so far the only constant in the classroom, but it had often been accompanied by the faster scratching of (y/n)’s quill as she mindlessly copied words she didn’t understand.

Sylvain had seen those notes, and he cringed every time he saw her attempts at spelling words she hadn’t seen or heard before that lecture.

But the point was that while she was a silent presence, she _had_ provided a layer of background noise that everyone now filtered out. But they were all training to be knights, and now that the background noise had become noticeably quieter, their instincts were reacting accordingly.

So, for the sake of the class, Sylvain picked up his quill, listening intently to the lecture.

And he began to write.

**

“Something up, Mercedes?”

She looked up at the sound of her name, her brow still furrowed slightly.

“Oh, hello Sylvain.” Mercedes smiled softly, her frown immediately disappearing. “It’s nothing really. I just made sweets for me and Annie to enjoy over tea, but I forgot (y/n) couldn’t join us today and I made too many. I got so used to making a few extras for her that I guess it became a habit.”

“It _is_ pretty weird without (y/n) around, isn’t it?” Sylvain asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yes.” Mercedes nodded, shoulder slumping as she sighed. “I know she sits with us for meals sometimes, but it really isn’t the same. She’s always so busy now, I’m worried she’s wearing herself out.”

It was true, Sylvain had barely seen her, let alone spoken with her since Claude and the Golden Deer had commandeered her skills for their own mission. (y/n) looked so calm and collected on the outside, but he wondered if she really was that calm or if she was hiding behind her usual mask of indifference.

She didn’t _look_ tired. But he couldn’t say for sure, because he’d only gotten the occasional passing glimpse. Even when she sat with the Blue Lions for meals, she would only be there until she finished and then leave immediately. And she’d spend most of the meal looking down at her plate.

“I’m sure she’s doing fine, Mercedes.” Sylvain plastered a fake smile to reassure his classmate. “Besides, it’s almost the end of the month anyway, just a week or two more of this and everything’ll be back to normal.”

“If you say so.” Mercedes clutched the bag of sweets a little tighter. “Annie and I normally have such fun when we’re having tea together, but now we don’t know what to do with ourselves…”

So Mercedes was feeling it too. That strange, empty feeling that came with the realisation that they wouldn’t see (y/n) for a while longer.

“Here, if it’ll make the two of you feel better, I’ll join you for tea until (y/n) gets back.” Sylvain offered, deciding to forgo flirting with girls for once. He was getting a little tired of it anyway. “I promise I won’t flirt or anything, I’ll be on my absolute best behaviour.”

“Are you sure?” Mercedes asked, hope lighting up her gaze. “I wouldn’t want to take up your time if you’re busy…”

“Trust me, I’ve got nothing important to do right now.”

Mercedes knew that better than anyone else. She knew that he hated his Crest, and all of the things in his life that its mere existence had ruined.

He was never truly busy when he was chasing after girls he didn’t really care about talking to. Truth be told, he could really use a break from pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

**

The energy in the classroom was wholly distracting.

Everyone was restless, shifting in their seats and completely unable to listen to the professor talk about making use of terrain in battle.

The Golden Deer had left earlier that morning, about two days before the other classes were supposed to go on _their_ missions.

The sound of Annette writing kept cutting off, as if she were getting distracted in the middle of words.

Felix was tapping his foot, a scowl permanently on his face.

One of the last people Sylvain expected to care about (y/n)’s wellbeing was Felix. But his blue-haired friend had surprised him in that regard. Then again, maybe Felix was simply worried he would lose a worthy sparring partner and that fact irritated him.

Even Dimitri, normally so calm even in the face of danger, was drumming his fingers on the desk in front of him. Dedue sat beside him, looking as stoic as ever, but there was a slight fidgety movement every now and then.

Even Sylvain was fidgeting, his resolve to obsessively take notes until (y/n) got back melting as the realisation hit him.

His friend was out there right now, and none of the Blue Lions were there to have her back. Not to mention the fact that she had no safety net to fall back on if any of the Golden Deer students got suspicious. No one would be able to help her.

“Alright.” Byleth slammed her book shut, startling more than half of the students. “Clearly nothing I say is sinking in, or you would have caught that I just said horses can breathe underwater. Instead we’ll go to the training grounds, maybe you’ll all stop fidgeting so much with a weapon in your hands.”

Felix was first out of the classroom, with Ingrid and Dimitri close behind. Even Mercedes and Annette looked relieved to be leaving the stuffy classroom.

But Sylvain noticed the faraway look in Byleth’s eyes as she organised the papers on her podium right before he left.

If even the professor was on edge…

That didn’t bode well for the next few days.

**

(y/n) put her plate down next to Dimitri’s with a slight thunk.

Everyone looked up at her, varying degrees of relief displaying on their faces as she carefully sat down. She returned their relief with a tired smile, having only returned a short while ago.

Somehow Claude had predicted the next attack wrong, and the class had been woefully unprepared. They’d ended up having to wait for the next one, and had only returned to the monastery a day after the other two classes got back from their own missions.

The entire Blue Lions class seemed to relax, seeing that their classmate was unharmed making all the difference toward their dour moods.

“Welcome back.” Sylvain found himself speaking before he knew it. “I heard the mission went well.”

She only nodded, stifling a yawn as she aimlessly poked at her food with the fork in her hand.

“(y/n) I feel I must apologise.” Dimitri’s words had her head shooting up, surprise clear on her face. “I recommended you for the Golden Deer’s mission because I found your methods in the fight with the bandits last month… Unsettling. But I think we can all agree that the lack of your presence in class was even more so.”

“Yeah, I could barely concentrate on what the professor was saying, let alone write it down!” Annette added with a grin. “My notes for the last month are a nightmare. I’m not sure how I’m going to fix them.”

“Sylvain was taking notes quite diligently,” Mercedes offered, making the redhead drop his gaze to his plate. “Perhaps you can borrow them?”

“Yes, that was about the weirdest thing to happen while you were absent, (y/n).” Ingrid mused. Sylvain looked up to see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I never thought I’d see the day where Sylvain actually took notes.”

Sylvain opened his mouth to respond, ready to tell his old friend that he took _plenty_ of notes, when he heard a noise he almost didn’t recognise.

In fact, the whole class went silent as quiet laughter issued from an unexpected place.

(y/n) had her hand covering her mouth, but her eyes sparkled with amusement as she laughed.

Sylvain’s jaw dropped, he’d known her for almost three months now and hadn’t once heard her laugh. Until today.

(y/n) looked up, her cheeks turning slightly red as she realised everyone was staring. Sylvain closed his mouth, a small smile replacing his surprise.

That laughter had been just about the best thing he’d heard all day. Perhaps even all year.

And he wanted so badly to hear it again.


	12. A Princess' Journey

_Imperial Year 1161, Evreah, Sreng Capital._

A king held his newborn child in his arms, a soft red fabric the only barrier between him and his progeny.

A daughter, though hardly his only one.

But she was the first girl to come from his third wife, and somehow the king knew that she would be very important to the future of his country.

She slept soundly in the soft red blanket that had been chosen for her by the seer.

Red.

The colour of blood. Of power and courage. Of leadership and of strength and of survival.

It was a colour not typically chosen for girls in Sreng.

But the seer had chosen it, and as the king looked down at his new daughter, he knew.

Somehow he knew that she would be very important for the days to come. And he knew that he would have to make her ready for the day when she chose her path.

For hers was a future soaked in blood.

_Imperial Year 1168, The palace in Evreah._

You watched the soldiers running out of the city from the safety of the large window in your bedroom.

You hadn’t understood why they had to go, but you’d heard the same words over and over again.

Southerners. War. Loss.

You weren’t used to hearing the last one.

And, it seemed, neither was the court.

Apparently the Lance of Death was not the only mystical weapon the southerners possessed. There was an almost identical lance as well, wielded by a man who could easily kill with his bare hands.

They called it the God Slayer. And they called the man Titan.

And then there was the peculiar shield which provided unearthly protection to its wielder and those he chose to defend. It had no name, nor did it deserve one.

Only a coward needed a shield to win.

And cowards were unworthy of respect.

Your instructors all warned you of the power that the southerners wielded. Of the angry orange glow that haunted the warriors’ dreams. They showed you the symbols of your enemies, and you committed them to memory, determined to spill the blood of any you met who bore those signs.

Two of your older brothers, and many of your extended family, went with the warriors that day. Elite warriors, trained to be the very best.

Trained to be _unbeatable_.

But none could stand up to the mystical weapons and survive.

And none did.

_Imperial Year 1170, The Royal Dining Hall_

“Aren’t you going to eat, (y/n)?” Your half-brother asked, lazily raising an eyebrow at you as he swirled the wine in his glass.

“I’ll eat when I am brought food that isn’t poisoned.” You replied, raising your chin as you returned his gaze.

Your sister choked on her meal.

Only nine years old and already you could detect traces of just about any poison. None of the other royal children could boast the same, but then again, none of the other royal children had instructors quite like yours.

“Poisoned?” Your half-brother sat his glass down. “Sister, you wound me. That’s quite an accusation.”

“If I am wrong, then you should take a bite of my meal for me.” You pushed the dish across the table. “Unless you have something to say?”

“I couldn’t possibly-”

The king’s wine glass slamming onto the table silenced the room.

“Do as she asks.” His eyes glinted with a dark rage.

“But- But father…”

“Eat.”

You smirked, watching as your half-brother reluctantly picked some of the food off your plate and raised it, with a shaking hand, to his mouth.

Only nine years old and already the king’s favourite child. Before you came along, he hadn’t had a favourite. He had far too many children to bother with such an idea.

But then the seer had chosen the red blanket, and you were the talk of the palace. And a threat to all of your older siblings. Threats tended to be dealt with quickly in the palace, but no one had managed to take you off guard just yet.

The effect was almost instant, and you silently commended your older brother for choosing a poison that would not have an antidote close by. It would have ensured your death came quickly and painfully.

You sipped your glass of water, watching with great interest as your half-brother writhed in pain, coughing and gasping, until finally his struggle stopped.

You looked around the table, gaze resting on each sibling in turn until none of them could hold your gaze any longer. A new plate was placed in front of you, and you continued the dinner as if nothing had happened.

Nine years old, and already a ruthless killer.

_Imperial Year 1173, The Plains of Nancledra_

You rode silently, enduring the freezing cold that cut through even your thick layers of clothing.

Your father had sent you and your instructors to his hunting estate after an attempt on your life. How he expected you to be safer in a secluded location was beyond you, but you weren’t about to question the king.

Even you, his favoured child, did not question the king or his orders.

Some of your younger siblings looked at you with barely hidden jealousy, or even hatred, while the older ones simply looked at you as a cat would look at its meal. 

But you’d proven many of them wrong. Having already evaded three assassination attempts, there was a general unrest among those in the court. But it wasn’t the attempts that had made everyone uneasy.

No, it had been your brutally efficient method of dealing with would-be assassins.

The first attempt had been textbook. An assassin looming over your bed one night with a knife meant for your heart. You kept that very same knife under your pillow, having buried the previous one in the assassin’s chest.

Your older brother, thought to be on the road to becoming the next king, had been the second attempt. Killed with his own poison.

And the third… That had been the closest anyone had gotten so far. Your former instructor had given you a hug, sliding a knife into your back as she went.

She’d told you not to let anyone best you, and you hadn’t. As soon as you had recovered, her head hit the floor. Unlike her cowardly sneak attack, you’d made sure she saw it coming.

And now you were excused from court life for a time.

That was fine by you, it would ensure you could hone your skills in peace. 

You continued riding for a time, until a hooded figure stood beside the road before you. You slowed, stopping in front of the figure with a curious tilt of your head.

“Would you care to see a glimpse of your future, princess?” A gravelly voice asked, the face obscured by the hood.

“You are a seer?” You asked, jumping down from your horse.

“Princess, how can we be sure that’s a seer?” A voice behind you asked.

“If it’s not,” You drawled, drawing a dagger from underneath your coat. “The snow in this area will quickly turn red.”

“Red.” The Seer laughed. “The colour chosen for you at birth. How fitting.”

You stiffened, narrowing your eyes at the seer before you. While it was a well-known fact within the palace that your baby blanket had been red…

The general public was never told of such things.

You sheathed your dagger, stepping forward and holding out your hands as you had done so many times before. Palm up, fingers spread wide.

Gnarled hands rested on your own, and your breath hitched at the sudden jolt of freezing cold that cut right through your previously warm gloves.

“I see a path stained with blood,” You sighed, hearing the same thing you always heard. “Yes, yours is a future stained-”

“Red.” You finished, taking your hands away with disgust.

“You didn’t let me finish.” The dark tone in the seer’s voice was supposed to frighten you.

At this point, all it did was irritate you. Your instructors on the other hand…

“You all say the same thing,” You replied, turning on one heel and marching back to your horse. “Whether you’re in the palace or out, you all say the same damn thing.”

“The seers you spoke to before were in the presence of your father.” You froze, turning back to the seer with narrowed eyes. “He knows what they see and it haunts him, so he does not allow you to hear the full story. He is forging you into his own personal weapon.”

“All the royal children are his weapons.” You said, striding back to the seer. “And as far as I am aware, there is no one alive who can force a seer to do anything.”

“The seer who chose your blanket left this world soon after. Killing a seer is supposed to be impossible, and yet...” The seer gestured vaguely at you. “I approached you on this road so that I may speak freely. You speak with seer after seer, hoping for something new to appear in your future… And I have finally found a way for that to happen.”

“You… You can tell me the truth?” You asked, hesitantly holding out your hands again. “Then do so. But please, skip the blood-stained path. I am tired of hearing it.”

“Yes, you may have a bloody path ahead of you. You will be a great warrior someday, a master of many fighting styles…” The gnarled hands rested on your own once more, and you noted that, somehow, they looked different from just a few minutes ago. “I see a sprawling castle, used mainly for worship but also for training warriors the likes of which you have never seen.”

You took in a deep breath, excited to hear the rest of the tale, but scared that somehow you were sealing your fate.

“I see… Red hair. Two rings. A promise not yet made. Red has more than the meanings you know, it is up to you to find the other. I see… Green. You can trust the man of green, but you must decide how much you trust him with, and only after the girl of green has vanished. But do not trust the woman, not until the very end, or your life will cease to be.”

You steeled yourself, forcing a neutral expression onto your face as you listened. Seers could ramble for hours, or they could say only a few words. It depended on the person, and the complexity of their future.

“You know of the war you will fight. But even I know not who it is against. The king of flames will force your hand, and you must decide upon the fate of the tempest king. The schemer will interfere, but it is necessary to forge your path.”

Hands lifted from your own, and you pulled your arms back to rest at your sides.

“Your future holds many outcomes, even I cannot predict which you will choose. But you must choose. Farewell, girl of two lands.”

You blinked, and the seer was gone. You waited a few seconds, preparing yourself to turn around and return to the ride.

“If any of you breathe a word of this to anyone,” You said, turning back to your instructors. “You will never speak again.”

_Imperial Year 1179, The Palace in Evreah, Throne Room. _

“The margrave agreed to your terms, your highness.”

Whatever had been said about the envoy that had been visiting Sreng for some time now… He had a good grasp of the language.

“But he regrets to inform you that he has only one child. A son.” 

Your father raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused at the notion that the southerners chose not to have multiple children.

“How old is this son?” He rumbled after a long pause. “I won’t have any of my daughters marrying a man much older than them.”

“He was born about twenty years ago.” The envoy replied, his eyes scanning the rows of your siblings.

“In season cycles, boy.” Your father scoffed.

“I… Do not know how old he is in season cycles.” The envoy stammered, the first sign of weakness he’d ever shown in the court. “If I had to take a guess, I’d say he’s about the same age as your daughter over there.”

He jerked his head in your general direction. You exchanged a glance with your half-sister beside you.

“I have a good many daughters over there.” Your father sighed, waving his hand idly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The… The one wearing red, your majesty.”

The king stiffened, his gaze slowly moving to where everyone else’s rested.

Upon you.

Everyone was silent, waiting for the reaction. Surely the king wouldn’t allow his favourite child to be sent to be at the southerners’ mercy? Surely he would nominate another daughter for this ridiculous agreement.

And then his eyes glimmered thoughtfully for a moment, before a resigned smile spread across his face.

“Very well.” You were waved forward with an idle gesture. “(y/n), come forward. You will begin your lessons on the southerners’ customs and language at once. In one and a half season cycles, you will be married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters?? In the span of a few days? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> I've had a surprising amount of downtime and really cracked down on getting some writing done recently!
> 
> And yes, I am casually skipping the Rite of Rebirth chapter in favour of adding some flavour and backstory to all this mess. It just sort of feels like the Rite of Rebirth is a big spotlight on Byleth and I didn't want to take anything away from that so I left it be. We'll be back in the usual timeframe next chapter, promise!
> 
> Just as a side note, the seers are just an interesting concept I came up with that I wanted to write. With no Goddess to worship, who would make a better god-like presence than mysterious beings that are ever-changing, supposed to be unkillable, and can determine someone's future with a touch of the hand? It's forbidden to look under a seer's cowl, not that there's anything but swirling shadows underneath. The last person who checked mysteriously disappeared before he could report his findings, and people noticed one extra seer wandering the palace corridors... 
> 
> And while Sreng years are the same as Fodlan ones, they don't use twelve months like their neighbours. They simply use the coming and going of the seasons. Which is, the coming and going of how ridiculously cold it is compared to how ridiculously cold it was a few weeks ago.
> 
> You may also have noticed that I haven't assigned a name to any of these new characters, and that I go to great lengths to... Not do so. It's a trend I've been following in the story mostly because I don't like coming up with names for people/things.


	13. A Brother's Guilt

You watched Dimitri swinging his lance effortlessly with a thoughtful frown.

Sylvain traded blows with the prince almost effortlessly, but you could tell that he wasn’t quite as skilled as the crown prince of Faerghus.

They weren’t really sparring, just practicing techniques and effective ways of blocking. While you agreed that it was better to practice the techniques on a real person rather than air, you still found it rather boring.

They both noticed your presence at about the same time, and traded a few more blows before ending their practice and wandering up to you.

“Well, well, well,” Sylvain grinned, apparently deciding to flirt with you today in order to keep up appearances. “Like what you see, (y/n)?”

You blinked, clearly unimpressed by his comment. In fact, you had half a mind to remind him just how easily you could knock him down, but Dimitri placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Come now, Sylvain,” He said, giving you an easy smile. “As much as I would like to see (y/n) wipe the floor with you-”

“Hey!”

“I think we would be better off actually getting in some practice.” Dimitri finished, removing his hand from your shoulder. “To that end, I would like to offer my assistance in perfecting your lance technique, (y/n).”

You frowned once more, this time confused.

“You see, while your sword technique is almost unparalleled, and your aim with a tomahawk is… Frankly quite terrifying,” He paused, frowning thoughtfully. “Your technique with a lance isn’t nearly as good. It is almost as if until quite recently, you’d never held a lance in your life.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong.

To say that the Sreng people hated lances was… A bit of an understatement. While they had their advantages, such as better range, none could get over the fact that the one thing that defeated so many Sreng warriors was a lance.

So they had altogether fallen out of use, and thus practice.

As you followed Dimitri to the weapons rack so you could select a training lance, you were reminded of the endless hours Sylvain had spent trying to get you to at least stop holding a lance like it was a quarterstaff.

He hadn’t altogether succeeded, but you could at least swing a lance with some proficiency. And it wasn’t like everyone at the academy didn’t have their own strengths and weaknesses anyway.

“We’ll start with your stance.” Dimitri said once you’d returned the training area. “If you perfect that, you can perfect just about anything. Here, copy mine.”

“Or you could copy mine,” Sylvain cut in, standing beside you and getting into a similar stance to his childhood friend. “It’s easier, and not made for someone who can lift a wagon on his own.”

“Sylvain, your stance is not easier, it’s incorrect.” Dimitri sighed, shaking his head. “And it has been that way since we were children. It only works for you because you use lances designed for cavalry battles, anything else and you would fall flat on your face.”

You looked between the two boys, noting the differences and weighing up your options. Dimitri was partially correct, Sylvain’s stance wasn’t actually wrong, just different. It was designed for a different style of lance, and to make up for that, the redhead’s grip was even a bit different.

It explained why you could best him with your sword on the ground, but when he was on a horse’s back he was nearly unstoppable.

Since you weren’t planning on fighting on horseback with a lance any time soon, you copied Dimitri, earning a dramatic sight from Sylvain.

“Traitor.” He grumbled, fixing his stance to match your own.

“You catch on quickly, (y/n).” Dimitri praised, another smile gracing his features. “With a little more practice, you could become a knight of Faerghus in no time.”

“Oh, there you three are!” Annette called from the entrance to the training area. “The professor called a meeting in our classroom, apparently we got our mission for this month!”

“Thank you, Annette.” Dimitri replied, relaxing his stance. “We’ll be over there shortly.”

You immediately walked to the weapons rack, putting your training lance into its original place with Dimitri and Sylvain close behind you. Once everything had been cleaned up, you began a brisk and quiet walk to the classroom.

Annette wandered into the room a moment later, Felix trailing reluctantly behind her.

“Now that everyone is here,” Byleth began, glancing at Sylvain before continuing. “Seteth has informed me that House Gautier’s relic, the Lance of Ruin, has been stolen. Our mission this month is to get it back.”

“The Lance of Ruin’s been taken?” Sylvain furrowed his brow, obviously confused as to why he hadn’t been told about it. “How? And by who?”

“Easy Sylvain, I’m getting to that.” Byleth said, looking down at her desk and plucking an envelope from it. “But I suspect if you had read this letter instead of carelessly leaving it on your desk yesterday, you would know.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk adorning your face as you looked up at your future husband. He brushed it off, taking the letter and stuffing it into his jacket for later before gesturing for the professor to continue.

“From the sounds of it, the eldest son of house Gautier, now the leader of a band of thieves, managed to steal the lance from right under the margrave’s nose.” Byleth crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow inquisitively at Sylvain. “He’s holed up in a fortress somewhere in Kingdom territory. Once I’m given more information, I’ll let you all know. Until then, it’s still a day off for all of you so go and enjoy it. Tomorrow we’ll start preparing for the mission.”

You blinked at the mention of an eldest son from house Gautier. Wasn’t that Sylvain? The envoy had specifically said that the margrave only had _one child_. And you were looking right at him… Weren’t you?

Sylvain noticed your bewilderment and frowned for a moment before he made the connection. Most of the class had left once more by this point, save for Dimitri who was speaking quietly with Byleth at the front of the room.

“Oh, right, (y/n) you don’t know about this, huh?” You nodded at his words. “My older brother, Miklan, was born without a Crest. Once I came along he lost pretty much everything, and eventually my father removed him from the family. He acts like Miklan was never born these days, it’s… Not pleasant.”

Sylvain led you out of the classroom, taking the letter out of his pocket and opening it as he walked.

You waited, watching him from the corner of your eye as he read. His jaw clenched once or twice, but for the most part he looked pretty care-free. You knew better than that, though.

Finally he sighed, crumpling the letter in his haste to shove it back into his pocket.

“Do you mind coming to the training grounds with me?” He asked, looking down at you. “I… I think I just need to be distracted from… Everything.”

You gave him a soft smile and a nod. 

You didn’t quite understand his frustrations, nor did you understand how his father could throw away a capable fighter over something as small as a Crest…

But you understood fighting.

And you would fight as long as Sylvain needed you to.

**

The door shut behind Sylvain with a quiet thud.

In the silent room, he may as well have slammed it.

You looked down at your desk, wondering how long it would take him to come back this time. It had been the third time he’d just up and left the classroom since the mission with Miklan. You stole a few glances around the room, noting that everyone else seemed to be feeling just as worried as you were.

Even Felix, who was scowling with disapproval, had the slightest hint of worry on his face. This was hardly the first time Felix had antagonised Sylvain in class, but it _was_ the first time the redhead had left class because of it.

Nobody really knew what was going on in his head, but you all remembered Miklan and somehow you knew that it had something to with that. So no one said anything to anyone outside of the Blue Lions, and Sylvain pretended he was fine when he wasn’t in class.

It was scary just how difficult it became to tell if he was OK or not.

“(y/n).” Byleth sighed, stopping in front of your desk. “Would you mind following him? I doubt he wants company right now, but maybe he’ll find your silent presence helpful.”

You nodded, standing and quietly stepping out of the room. It took you a while to find him, but you eventually spotted him sitting on a bench near the dormitories. You sat beside him, glancing around only to find the place deserted.

“You are… Not OK.” You murmured, making him blink in surprise.

His gaze came into focus, but he said nothing.

“I… Killed my brother.” You clasped your hands in your lap, hoping to stop yourself from getting too restless. “He tried to… To _poison_ my… No… To poison me.”

Sylvain frowned, still not saying anything. You took that as your cue to continue.

“I made him eat the poison.” You said, your voice quiet as you remembered. “That is… What we do in Sreng. He failed to kill me, and he was… He was…”

You pursed your lips, grasping for a word you simply hadn’t learnt yet.

“Punished?” Sylvain suggested, the first word he’d spoken to you since you’d sat down.

“Yes.” You nodded, letting out a sigh before you continued. “I do not understand your… Your pain. My siblings mean… Nothing to me. When they die I… I feel nothing.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You looked down at your lap. “I am liked best by my father. I am seen as more important because of that. My siblings… Hate me for it. They are… Forgot?”

“Forgotten.” Sylvain corrected, staring at the line of doors across the yard. “It was like that with Miklan too. As soon as my father found out I had a Crest… My brother was tossed aside. He lost everything, eventually he even lost his home. His family.”

You waited patiently, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder then thinking better of it. It was strange to think that he was the same man you had been promised to. The man who taught you to read and write, who would laugh in the face of Felix’s insults…

The man who was working so hard to keep you safe.

“You know, when we were growing up, he tried to kill me. He left me alone on a snowy mountainside, he even pushed me down a well and left me there… But he never got punished for it.” Sylvain closed his eyes for a moment, opening them once more with a quiet sigh. “I guess his lack of a Crest was punishment enough. But what happened in that tower… He didn’t deserve that.”

“No.” You whispered, finally putting your hand onto his shoulder. “He did not.”

“I know I shouldn’t feel guilty, I didn’t make him do any of what he did, and I didn’t choose to have a Crest.” He hung his head. “But I can’t help but think that this is all my fault… If I just hadn’t been born with a Crest-”

“It was not your choice.”

He turned his head, looking up at you with surprise.

You were surprised too. Since you’d arrived in Fodlan, you assumed that Crests were seen as boons but… Sylvain seemed to see it as a burden.

And not just that, he seemed to hate it and the duties it came with just as much as you did.

The expression on his face… He looked tired. Exhausted, even. But most importantly, he looked lost. You weren’t sure why, but you knew what you needed to do.

You scooted closer to him until your legs were brushing against each other, and hesitantly put your arm over his shoulders. He relaxed almost immediately, leaning into your touch and resting his head on your shoulder.

You still didn’t know what to do next. Comforting someone was… A foreign concept. It still seemed so surreal that you’d even done as much as you had. So you just sat, silently staying by his side.

What was that expression again? A shoulder to cry on?

Yes…

Until Sylvain was ready…

You would be a shoulder to cry on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know anything about fighting with lances? No.
> 
> Am I making an educated guess based on my approximate knowledge of weaponry, physics and history? Absolutely.


	14. The Fracture of Trust

Something was… Wrong.

You paused, glancing over your shoulder as you once more felt the nagging sensation of being watched.

“Hey, (y/n).” Sylvain called, having stopped a few steps ahead. “You OK?”

You nodded, sparing one last glance behind you before you caught up to the group.

“I expect we’ll find out what our mission for this month is soon.” Dimitri commented, his gaze resting on the various stalls in the marketplace at the entrance to the monastery. “Hopefully it is more peaceful than what we have been dealing with.”

“Yeah, I know I could use a break.” Sylvain scoffed, glancing down at you once more.

Ever since Miklan’s transformation and subsequent death, an understanding had passed between Sylvain and yourself. While you could more easily distinguish between the persona he presented to the world and his true self… He noticed more of the little things now, things that he originally must have thought were because of your being in a strange and unfamiliar land. He knew better now, knew that they were habits you’d been practicing from a young age just to survive. 

Which was why he subtly brushed his hand against yours, a question in his eyes as you glanced up at him. You simply looked away, unable to describe the feeling that had settled over you.

A flicker of movement caught your attention, and you took a few quick steps forward to intercept it before you remembered you were still with your friends. And in a reasonably quiet marketplace, no less. There were no crowds to disappear into.

So you turned back, forcing a light smile onto your face as you walked backwards so you could face Dimitri, who laughed at your apparent eagerness to explore.

A shadow flitted past in your peripheral vision and you whipped around, sure this time that you weren’t imagining things. Something glinted in the sunlight.

You raised your hand in an instant, catching a knife only a moment before it could collide with your chest. Pain flared in your hand and you looked down.

It had been a clumsy catch, something you would have done better if you’d been able to practice over the past few months. Your grip relaxed almost on its own, the bloody knife clattering to the floor as you stared at the cut in your hand.

Your vision swam into and out of focus, and everything seemed far away. You barely felt someone shaking your shoulder, and you may as well have been underwater for how well you could hear any of the sounds around you.

Your gaze finally focused on the dagger and you recognised it immediately. It was definitely from Sreng, but the specific details escaped you. Someone you knew had carried that dagger everywhere but… Your head felt heavy, and your mind was fuzzy.

Ah, poison. Lovely.

You blinked a few times, finally managing to look up at Sylvain, whose mouth was moving but he definitely wasn’t saying anything.

You wondered if he knew there were five of him now.

And then you only saw the sky above you.

When you next opened your eyes, you couldn’t see the sky anymore. It looked a lot more like the stone ceiling of the monastery, but you weren’t entirely sure.

Your brain still felt fuzzy, but at least you weren’t dead.

At least, you didn’t _think_ you were dead.

A shock of red hair hovered into your vision, followed by Sylvain’s concerned frown.

“Looks like she’s awake, your highness.” He commented, looking up at someone you couldn’t see. “Here, let’s get you sitting up, (y/n).”

You wanted to tell him that you could get up without his help, but you felt the weak shake in your limbs as Sylvain helped you into a sitting position and you knew you weren’t about to be doing that anytime soon. Not to mention the fact that Dimitri was also in the room, relief clear on his face as he looked at you.

You smiled weakly, blinking away the last traces of dizziness.

“I must say, your reflexes are incredible.” Dimitri said, an impressed smile spreading across his face. “I’m not sure I could have caught a dagger like that… But that brings me to my question: why would someone throw a dagger at you in broad daylight like that?”

“Uh, your highness, are you sure they were throwing it at (y/n)?” Sylvain interjected, looking between you and the prince a couple times. “I mean, if she hadn’t stepped in front of you like that, it would have hit you instead.”

“True.” Dimitri frowned, his hand moving to his chin as he thought. “But why would they attempt to assassinate me here? I’m surrounded by capable knights, and we don’t exactly walk around unarmed either. The marketplace is often a place to find mercenaries and other accomplished fighters this time of year too, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“It would make sense if the assassin was not from Fodlan.” Seteth’s voice said from the doorway, making all three of you jump. “Or if they were fueled by an emotion that clouded their judgement. In either case, they may not have been aware of the conditions here.”

Sylvain and Dimitri exchanged a look.

You kept your face impassive as Seteth fixed his gaze on you.

“Although the assassin did pick an opportune time to attack. With most of the knights searching for Flayn we did not have the marketplace guarded as well as we normally do.” You blinked, surprise breaking through your mask. Flayn was missing? “And now we have had to take some of the knights off of the search for my sister and place them in charge of finding your would-be assassin.”

Seteth sighed, suddenly looking far older than he was.

“The timing was most likely no mere coincidence, so I suspect if we find one, we will find the other.” He straightened, once more the overbearing and all-seeing advisor to the archbishop. “I asked a blacksmith to look at that dagger, and we were able to confirm that it was not made in Fodlan. If I had to take a guess, it was made in Sreng.”

Sylvain stiffened, a forced smile making its way onto his face as he tried to cover up the emotions swirling in his gaze. 

“I was under the impression that the people of Sreng did not concern themselves with the names of their enemies.” Dimitri said, drawing attention away from you and your future husband. “How would the assassin have known who I was?”

“Perhaps they spent a fair amount of time in Faerghus before coming here.” Seteth suggested, once more glancing in your direction. “But that’s enough of this. For the time being, I ask that you leave this investigation to the knights, and focus your efforts solely on your class’ mission for the month.”

“Of course, Seteth.” Dimitri nodded, standing from his chair as the advisor left the room. “I promised the professor I would let her know once (y/n) woke up, so I hope you’ll all excuse me.”

Sylvain nodded, waiting until the door had shut behind him before turning to you with a raised eyebrow. “That dagger wasn’t aimed at Dimitri, was it?”

“No.” You replied, looking away from him.

“Do you know who it was?”

You looked up, surprised by his question, then slowly nodded.

You remembered who had that dagger now that you weren’t half delirious. You’d seen it plenty of times in Sreng.

The fact that he stooped as low as _poison_...

“Do not worry about me.” You said, filling the silence as best you could. “When I am… _Better_... I will stop him.”

“You can’t be serious. Whoever he is, he almost killed you today, that’s more than enough reason for you to leave it to the knights.” Sylvain ran a hand through his hair, his face showing signs of the worry he was trying so hard to hide. “You’re not in Sreng anymore, you can’t just track down a would-be assassin and kill him in broad daylight.”

You tilted your head, wondering for just a moment how daylight could be broad.

And then you realised why you had been attacked in clear view of so many. And, perhaps, why the poison used on the dagger was non-lethal.

You clenched your hands into fists, anger bubbling to the surface at the thought of such an underhanded tactic. You were going to make your half-brother pay for this.

“He will not see me coming.” You said darkly, earning a concerned frown from the redhead. “No one will.”

“(y/n), you can’t.” He sighed in exasperation. “Well, maybe you can, but no matter how cleanly you do it, _someone_ will find out and the past six months will be for nothing. The knights are pretty good fighters-”

“He is better.”

“But there’s one of him and hundreds of knights.” 

“You do not understand.”

“No. I don’t.” For the first time ever, you saw Sylvain actually look… Angry. “You’re always so smart, I don’t think we could have kept up this charade for so long if you weren’t. I mean, you learnt to write in under a week, you easily pass tests in a language you’re barely fluent in and you know so many fighting styles that it boggles my mind sometimes.”

His eyes lit up with a fire you’d only seen in the fiercest warriors back home. 

“But then you bury it under all these ridiculous rules that you don’t even bother to question. You’re talking about killing a man just because he threw a dagger at you.” He stood, looking down at you with a swirl of so many emotions that you couldn’t even begin to name them. “You want to end someone’s _life_ (y/n). For what? Your honour? If you kill him then you’re jeopardizing the entire peace treaty, which will lead to even more pointless death! But I suppose you’ve already thought that through, haven’t you? Let me guess, _it doesn’t matter to you._”

You blinked, an unfamiliar feeling coiling within you as you stared at him.

It wasn’t anger, nor was it guilt or shame but…

Hurt.

Sylvain suggested that you didn’t care and… The fact that he thought that about you hurt more than you wanted to admit.

But what he didn’t realise was that you weren’t the real target.

Your half-brother had thrown the knife to find out who your would-be husband was. To end the marriage, and thus the peace treaty, he only had to kill one of you. Why bother with you when he could target your woefully unprepared fiancé?

You needed to explain. And quickly.

“I was not trying to-”

“No, just… Stop.” He crossed the room, opening the door and pausing in the doorway. “I thought you were just like us, but I guess I was wrong. Maybe Felix was right, you really are just a barbarian.”

The door slamming behind him made you flinch, and after a few tense moments you relaxed, letting your shoulders sag as the full weight of the argument washed over you.

Maybe it was for the best.

It was an arranged marriage after all. He didn’t have to _like you_... Just marry you. 

But even still…

He’d promised that no one would call you ‘barbarian’ ever again.

You lay back down, pulling your blanket over yourself and curling up underneath it as you willed the hurt to go away.


	15. The Man of Green

You let the knights deal with your half-brother.

Mostly to spite Sylvain, but also because you were busy keeping an eye on him. Of course, he didn’t and hopefully wouldn’t ever get to know about that. And if you had gotten a chance to deal with your half-brother in the process of protecting your future husband? Well, no one could really fault you for that.

Surprisingly, your would-be assassin was found pretty easily. But of the five knights who had confronted him…

One would never return to his family, and another had had the Sreng symbol of cowardice carved into him. You watched two knights dragging their new prisoner away while three more helped the wounded. And you couldn’t help but look away when you caught sight of the symbol.

It hadn’t been for the knight, he was definitely not a coward.

No, the symbol had been a message for you.

And you hated just how ashamed it made you feel. You hated just how much sway your upbringing still had over you. Maybe your future husband had been right when he said that you didn’t bother questioning your upbringing.

But why would you have questioned it? Until you came to Fodlan, it had been all you had. All you knew.

Nonetheless, you’d always solved your own problems in Sreng. You couldn’t have trusted anyone to solve them for you, and it led to fewer unexpected consequences. The sight of which was making your stomach churn.

And you really hated the confused frown Sylvain cast in your direction upon seeing your unconscious half-brother dragged across the courtyard. The redhead had taken a step toward you and you’d turned away, walking back to your room and firmly shutting the door behind you, leaving no room for a discussion.

But you couldn’t stay in there long, only about half an hour passed before you were restlessly pacing up and down the small room.

What happened had been Sylvain’s fault, hadn’t it?

You’d trusted him. Expected him to want an explanation, to even _listen_ to one… Instead he’d turned his back on you with a degree of disgust that you never thought you would see from him.

Eventually you decided that there was no use laying blame. You needed some answers, and you were only going to get them from one place.

And only five minutes after that you were striding out once more, heading directly for Seteth’s office.

_You can trust the man of green._

The seer’s words echoed in your mind as you straightened your shoulders, and knocked on the door.

“Just a moment.” Came the response.

“Hey (y/n).” Claude’s voice made you jump, and you turned to find him leaning on a nearby wall. “I heard you caught a knife the other day. That’s… Very impressive. Very difficult too.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the door just as Seteth opened it, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of you. Then he looked at Claude, eyes narrowing with annoyance at the sight of the Golden Deer’s leader.

“(y/n), please come in.” Seteth finally said, offering you a tiny smile. “I’m glad the knight I sent to find you delivered his message. I will be with you as soon as I finish with Claude.”

You resisted the urge to frown, or do anything else to let your confusion show. Seteth hadn’t summoned you, so why was he lying about it? And then you remembered that Claude was still nearby, watching your reaction with great interest.

Perhaps the archbishop’s advisor had noticed the interest Claude had taken in you, and was attempting to protect your privacy. Or perhaps the scheming house leader had listened in on a few too many conversations and learnt some things that he shouldn’t have shortly before being discovered.

Either way, you were glad that Seteth had provided a reason for your being outside his office despite being just as confused about it.

You nodded, walking into the office you’d only been in a handful of times and sitting on the chair in front of the gigantic desk. You shot an innocent smile over your shoulder at Claude, who was now standing in the doorway and quietly conferring with Seteth.

Soon enough, Claude had been successfully sent away, the sound of his footsteps fading as he wandered back the way he’d come.

Seteth waited a few moments more, then shut the door behind him and turned back to you with a look of undisguised curiosity. He crossed the room, sitting in his chair before he began speaking.

“I imagine you’ve heard that your attacker was caught.” He said finally, lacing his fingers together on his desk. “As I suspected, he is from Sreng. Although how he got here, or even if he has something to do with Flayn’s disappearance is a mystery.”

“He… Does not speak your language.” You quietly replied, watching the advisor’s face carefully for any signs that you’d made a bad decision.

“How did you know that?”

At Seteth’s question, you leant down and pulled the knife from your boot. You placed it on the table, leaning back in your chair as you waited for him to make the connection. The royal family all carried nearly identical daggers, each one created specifically for the child at birth based on the seer’s predictions.

Yours had a deep red cloth wrapped around the hilt, and two small rubies on either side of the guard.

The one you’d caught the other day was bulkier, made for someone with a much bigger build than yours, and was decorated with a variety of blue gems. Thinking back on it, you were surprised it had been light enough to throw with any sort of accuracy.

“I see.” He picked it up, frowning at it for a moment before looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “It seems that you, too, are from Sreng. How am I to know that you are not in league with him?”

“I am here for… For _peace_.” You fumbled with your words, instinctively glancing around the room for the red-headed help that simply wasn’t there. “Sylvain is my… I am… We are to… To marry.”

“Interesting.” Seteth mused, placing your knife back onto the desk. “The last time we suggested peace to the margrave Gautier, he firmly believed that it was not possible. That was only three months ago, and yet here you are, a girl from Sreng who is part of an arranged marriage that will cement a peace treaty the church was unaware of.”

You dropped your gaze to the desk in front of you, suddenly aware that you had just spilled a very big secret to a high-ranking member of the church.

But the seer had told you that you could trust him after ‘the girl of green’ had vanished. Flayn had green hair, and she had vanished. You looked up, raising your chin with a surge of confidence.

This was part of your destiny.

There was no way you were backing out now.

“Whether Lady Rhea finds out about this now or in a few months’ time is of no consequence to her, and I suspect you’ve decided to trust me with this information for a reason.” You blinked in surprise at his words, you knew that you would be able to trust him and yet… “The margrave would not have hidden your identity and purpose if he did not believe that there was a very real danger to your life. I am inclined to agree with him, there are many people, even within the church, who would rather see you dead than be at peace with your people.”

“You… Will not tell Rhea?” You asked, still unsure of his intentions.

“None of what you have just trusted me with leaves this room.” Seteth nodded, sliding your dagger across the table. “However, I suspect that you did not tell me this simply because you wanted to.”

He was right. You needed to know why your half-brother was here. He had always been a warmonger, but surely even he knew that warring with Fodlan was completely pointless?

Maybe you’d just assumed he was smarter than he actually was.

“I… I want to speak with my brother.” You said, looking down at your dagger before looking back up at the advisor.

Seteth raised an eyebrow at your request, mulling it over for a moment before responding.

“That… Will be quite difficult to arrange,” He said finally. “But I’m sure it is possible. I’ll send for you once the arrangements have been made for you to speak with your… Brother.”

You nodded solemnly, picking up the knife and sliding it back into your boot before you stood.

At least he hadn’t asked for an explanation as to why your brother had attempted to kill you. That was a story you didn’t want to try and tell when you kept stumbling over your words.

“Thank you.” You murmured, turning towards the door. “I will… Find Flayn. I swear.”


	16. Her True Face

“There she goes again.” Claude commented, twirling the arrow in his hand. “You know, she avoided going to Seteth’s office at all costs over the past few months… And now she’s willingly gone there twice. Think it has something to do with that mystery assassin?”

“It’s possible.” Dimitri replied, watching his classmate from the corner of his eye as she disappeared into the stairwell. “Sylvain said the dagger was meant for me, but somehow I don’t think that was true.”

“You think your dear, silent classmate is important enough for an assassination attempt?” Claude raised an eyebrow, nocking an arrow as he turned back to the archery targets. “But why send her here? Surely she was safer when nobody knew she was staying with the Margrave.”

“You’re right, it just wouldn’t make sense.” Dimitri sighed, watching his fellow house leader get three bullseyes in quick succession. “Then again, not much about her does.”

“Are you talking about the fact that she very subtly tests her food for poison at every meal?” Claude asked, making the blond blink in surprise. “How about her uncanny sense of danger? She heard my near-silent footsteps outside her room once and nearly stabbed me with that weird dagger of hers.”

“I doubt (y/n) would actually have stabbed you.” Dimitri mused, absently testing the string on the bow in his hands. “She is many things, but she’s definitely not stupid.”

Claude shrugged, twirling another arrow.

“It seems that every time we learn something about her, more questions pop up.” The blond muttered, nearly snapping the bowstring before he remembered his own strength. “Perhaps she is also an assassin, and the one in the marketplace was trying to eliminate his competition?”

“That would make sense,” Claude agreed, pointing his arrow at Dimtri. “Except for the part where he used a very weak poison on her. No, I think that our assassin had a different goal that day, but now that he’s been captured I doubt we’ll find any answers there. Not if Seteth has anything to say about it.”

Dimitri only frowned, trying to piece together the puzzle in his head.

None of it made any sense to him.

Who was this girl? And what did Sylvain have to do with it all? Felix seemed to know something, but Dimitri knew better than to try and get answers from him.

And Claude… Even the scheming house leader of the Golden Deer who knew far too many secrets was having trouble.

“Besides,” Claude shot a grin at the prince. “She’s had plenty of chances to kill both of us, and probably Edelgard too, and hasn’t taken a single one. So unless she’s aiming for Rhea, I think she’s here for a different reason.”

“I suppose it would be easier to find out her motives if she spoke to anybody but Sylvain.” Dimitri grimaced as he remembered classes that morning. “Although she doesn’t even do that anymore, Sylvain developed a sudden aversion to being in the same room as her and she seems content to keep it that way.”

“At least we know now that (y/n) definitely isn’t shy,” Claude said, eyes glinting with triumph. “If that were the case, she’d at least be able to talk to her classmates by now. She’s staying silent for a reason, and if we can figure that out, I bet this whole mystery will unravel.”

That, Dimitri decided, was going to be easier said than done.

**

You strode into the cell, head held high as you regarded your half-brother in chains.

This whole situation was strange to you. As a princess, you’d never needed to step foot in any prison cells, in fact, you weren’t really sure if there were any in Sreng. Most illegal things were punishable by death, but then again… Most things that were illegal in Fodlan were perfectly acceptable, or non-existent, in Sreng.

You couldn’t let any of that show, not in front of your half-brother. For the moment, you were nothing but the favourite daughter of the king of Sreng. Proud, confident and incapable of surprise.

At least you would be able to speak in your native tongue for the first time since you’d left the palace. It would be a nice change of pace from almost constantly struggling to remember and pronounce words.

He glared up at you, a sneer set on his face.

“And so the Crimson Queen finally shows her face.” He said, making you stiffen.

“Don’t call me that.” You crouched in front of him, staying just out of reach on the off chance that he would attempt to harm you.

“Or what?”

“Or the guards might just find that they didn’t manage to take away all of my weapons.” You murmured, slipping the hilt of your dagger far enough out of your boot that he could see it. “Why are you here?”

“To kill you.” A half-smile made its way onto your half-brother’s face.

“If you really wanted to kill me, you would have taken a more direct approach.” You snorted, standing up once more and beginning to pace up and down the room. “Throwing daggers from the shadows has never been your style, and frankly it was quite sloppy. Try again.”

“Father has gone mad if he thinks that he can make peace with these _insects_.” 

“So you decided that there was no point going through the effort of killing me when you could just go after the man I was supposed to marry?”

His eyes darted away, and you smiled triumphantly.

“Well, it sounds to me like you didn’t think this through.” You paused, crossing your arms as your half-brother’s gaze snapped back to you. “Did you really think our father would send his favourite daughter to marry the son of his greatest enemy? Everyone thought I would be queen someday, and he just suddenly decided to send me away with no hesitation at all?”

You shook your head, sighing with disappointment.

“You disobeyed father’s orders, brother. Which means you’ll never see Sreng again.” You strode for the door, pausing just a few steps before it and glancing over your shoulder at him. “But I’ll think of you when I return to the palace with my fiancé’s head in one hand and the Lance of Ruin in the other.”

You turned back to the door, grimacing as you recalled what your father had asked you to do.

_Gain his trust. Steal the lance. Kill him if you must._

And you had been fully prepared to do so.

Until…

You couldn’t shake the idea of anyone in Sreng attempting to use the lance and facing the same fate as Miklan.

After seeing him turn into that beast… That monster… You’d resigned yourself to marrying Sylvain, to forcing your father to just accept the peace treaty. To giving up your chance at the throne.

You’d decided it the moment you put an arm around Sylvain’s shoulders. The moment he had finally let you in.

It almost felt like a waste now that he could barely look at you.

But your half-brother didn’t need to know that just yet. And if he somehow got out of here and back to Sreng… Well, your father wouldn’t know that your plans had changed until it was far too late.

“If I am to die here, then I should inform you of something that has happened.” Your half-brother’s voice stopped you just as you reached out to knock on the door. “It seems congratulations are in order, you are now the highest ranking female of your family line.”

You stiffened, waiting a few moments to compose yourself before you knocked and the door opened to let you out.

You couldn’t afford to show any weakness just yet.

You kept up a brave face as you returned to Seteth’s office and told him what you’d found out. He almost perfectly hid the disappointment he felt upon hearing that your half-brother knew nothing.

Luckily for you, he was so busy pretending not to be bothered by the lack of information that he didn’t even notice your strange demeanour.

Seteth dismissed you soon after, promising not to breathe a word of the day to anyone, and you headed straight for your room in a sort of daze.

Until, that is, you smacked into something solid.

“My apologies, (y/n), I should have been looking where I was going.”

You looked up at Dimitri, blinking slowly as you tried to process why you’d stopped moving.

“Are you…” The blond trailed off, looking you over with a concerned frown. “Are you feeling OK, (y/n)? You look rather pale.”

_No_, you wanted to say. _I’m not_.

Instead you nodded, glancing to his right to see Dedue standing nearby, also frowning with concern.

“The professor called for us to meet in the classroom to discuss what we’ve found out about Flayn,” Dimitri said gently, a hand hesitantly resting on your shoulder. “But if you’re not feeling well…”

You nodded once more, wondering when he would let you past.

He kept on talking and you just needed to _think_.

Had she been here right now, your mother would have laughed at you, asked why you were acting like a startled deer when you were supposed to be the wolf that was hunting it.

You’d never get to hear that laugh again.

Or even that question.

You shrugged Dimitri’s hand off your shoulder, easily slipping past him before he could even think about stopping you. 

“(y/n)!” He called helplessly from behind you, apparently deciding not to follow.

Sylvain rounded a corner just as you stormed past it, and took a quick step backward just in time.

And then he was following you, and suddenly his hands were on your shoulders and you had stopped moving and he was looking you over with a concerned frown.

“Whoa, hey, (y/n) slow down.” He said, loosening his grip on your shoulders once he’d stopped you. “Are you alright?”

You shoved him off of you, white hot anger slicing through you at his question.

What did he care?

He thought you were just a barbarian, didn’t he?

It had been almost a week since that day and he hadn’t said a single word to you since. Not even a ‘hello’.

What _right_ did he have to ask if you were OK now?

“Listen, (y/n), I’m-”

“Stop.” You cut him off, glaring up at him with all the pent-up anger you’d been feeling the past week. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

He took a step back, surprise etched into his features as you shoved past him and stormed away, hiding from him in your room for the second time that week.

You pressed your back to the door, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor. A dry sob wracked your body as you buried your face in your hands.

None of this was turning out the way you’d planned.

You were supposed to gain his trust, not push him away the moment he said something that hurt your feelings.

Dammit, your feelings weren’t supposed to be hurt so easily.

How was it that his opinion of you had come to matter so much?

_”You really are just a barbarian”_

He’d said it and he meant it.

And now he was trying to pretend that he hadn’t. But you weren’t about to forget, nor would you let him forget either. Those weren’t the sort of words you could just take back.

And then your mother-

No.

You sighed, straightening your shoulders and pulling yourself off the ground.

Your half-brother had everything to gain and nothing to lose by telling you that she was gone. He could very well have been lying just to throw you off your game.

Now was not the time to _fall apart_.

You could get by without Sylvain. You could just steal the lance and put it somewhere nobody would find it. You could go home without him, then.

This way, the only person getting hurt was him.

And at this point, you thought that maybe, just maybe, he deserved it.


	17. A Man Of Many Masks

Sylvain knew he’d made a mistake.

Yes, that much was obvious to him from the moment he realised that (y/n) had followed his advice and let the knights handle it. There had been an unreadable look on her face as she watched the knights drag their new prisoner past, with only a hint of shame peeking through her carefully constructed mask.

She’d looked up at him a moment later, then turned away, giving him the coldest shoulder he’d ever received.

And, all things considered, that was pretty frosty.

He should have gone and apologised after that. Should have just knocked on her door and said sorry as many times as he needed to.

But he was still upset. Still angry.

Every time he looked at her, he remembered that dark look on her face, that glimpse into the deadly Sreng princess who could kill without a hint of hesitation. He wasn’t scared of it per se, but he struggled to comprehend how that girl could be the same person as the one who helped Ashe with his combat training and quietly drank tea with Annette and Mercedes.

He just couldn’t understand how she could jump from one thing to the other like that. At this point, he was absolutely sure that one of these personas was fake, but which was it?

And then he’d seen her wandering in a daze to her room, looking pale and shaken. Nothing like either of the masks she usually wore. His heart broke a little just seeing her look so lost, it reminded him of how he’d been feeling after Miklan.

She’d spoken to him back then, been there for him… She had done far more than he deserved, and he wanted to be there for her. So he stopped her, tried to apologise but-

_”Leave. Me. Alone.”_

Every word had been a struggle and yet… It was the most like a Fodlan noblewoman she’d ever been. At least, it reminded him strongly of most of the Fodlan noblewomen he’d upset in his life.

He’d thought it would be easier if she would just hate him. But now that she did…

Goddess, why did it hurt so bad?

“Sylvain!” Claude’s voice brought the redhead out of his brooding. “Can’t help but notice you’re looking a little like Felix, which isn’t exactly great for attracting the ladies. Something on your mind?”

“Right now, the only lady I’m looking for is Flayn,” Sylvain replied, looking across the table at his fellow student. “But uh, don’t tell Seteth that. He might take it the wrong way and I would very much like to make it to the end of the school year.”

“If you’re so busy looking for Flayn,” Claude tilted his head, a half-grin forming on his face. “Why are you sitting here brooding and pretending to read the letter that you’re holding upside-down?”

“What do you want Claude?” Sylvain sighed, running a hand over his face before looking at the letter in his hand only to find that it was, in fact, upside-down.

“No need to get so snippy, Sylvain,” Claude raised both hands in surrender, still grinning. “I just wanted to ask a question about (y/n).”

“Have you tried asking her yourself?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, she doesn’t talk to anyone other than you.” Claude’s eyes glittered knowingly for a moment. “Though I suppose that’s not the case anymore. She told you to leave her alone, didn’t she?”

Sylvain stiffened, wondering how Claude even knew that.

Until he realised that he _had_ seen the Golden Deer’s leader nearby that day. Which meant… He’d been eavesdropping.

Oh _no_. This was bad.

This was really, really bad.

Claude was way too smart for his own good sometimes, and if he’d overheard her talking then that meant that their whole plan was about to come crumbling down around them.  
“Easy there, friend.” Claude chuckled, leaning across the table. “I’m not about to go spilling any secrets. But judging by your reaction, I’d be right in saying that she’s not from Fodlan, wouldn’t I?”

The redhead nodded mutely, his mind whirling as he tried to figure out what Claude’s game was. Was he going to blackmail them? But what could Sylvain do that Claude couldn’t?

“So her being here… It’s a political marriage, it has to be.” Claude’s grin widened. “But for some reason you don’t want the church, or even your crown prince, to know about it. To be frank, I don’t really trust the church at all, but what could they have done to make your father not trust them? I thought all Faerghus nobles put blind faith in the church.”

“Does it matter?” Sylvain asked, narrowing his eyes at the boy sitting across from him.

“It always matters,” Claude’s eyes glimmered knowingly. “You don’t want to get caught up as a pawn in a game you don’t fully understand, and you definitely don’t want to do that when an organisation as big and powerful as the church is involved.”

“You think this is just some political game?” Sylvain leant forward, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear this particular conversation.

“You don’t?” Claude shook his head, his gaze also darting around to make sure the coast was clear. “Tell me, Sylvain, when did your father tell you about this arrangement?”

“It was… Right before she arrived.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve only been told what you need to know to play your part.”

“For someone who only just had his suspicions confirmed, you claim to know quite a bit about this situation.”

“Let’s just say I’m looking out for a friend.”

“Considering this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, I wasn’t about to go suggesting we’re friends.” Sylvain grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms. “But I won’t say no to calling the future leader of the Alliance my friend. You never know, it might get me out of trouble some day.”

“Or into it,” Claude chuckled, also leaning back. “Regardless of whether or not it actually _is_ a political play… You need to prepare for the worst.”

“What do you suggest?”

“There’s a rift between the two of you, and you need to fix it,” Claude sighed, his gaze travelling to a too-familiar pair making their way to the gardens. He needed to talk quickly. “You’re all she’s got in this place. We’ve both seen her fight, so trust me when I say that you’ll want her fighting by your side if this all crashes and burns.”

“Believe me, I’d love to fix things between us but…” Sylvain glanced down at the letter in his hand. “I’m not really sure if she’s the ‘kill the messenger’ type or not.”

Claude arched an eyebrow, watching Edelgard and Hubert’s approach from the corner of his eye.

“My father received a message from her family a couple weeks ago. He finally got it translated and sent it to me, along with some weird brooch thing that I’m not sure if (y/n) could wear without giving herself away but…” Sylvain looked up, then looked back down very quickly as soon as he recognised who was on their way. “She once told me that she didn’t feel anything when a sibling died. But her mother… I should tell her. I know I should. I’m just not sure if she’ll hate me more for telling her or for keeping it a secret.”

“I can’t really predict how she’ll react but I _can_ tell you that she deserves to know.” Claude stood, leaning over the table to clap Sylvain over the shoulder. “If we don’t want those two to get suspicious, I’m going to need you to pretend I said something funny.”

Sylvain put on a fake smile, just as he had so many times before.

And then he laughed, standing from his own seat and tucking the letter into his jacket.

He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell (y/n) about it just yet, the whole situation was blurry and uncertain. He didn’t know what choice to make.

Didn’t know if he could handle the aftermath of making the wrong one.

But he _did_ know how to pretend he was OK.

And so he did, walking past her Imperial highness with a grin that not even she could see through.

It was just another role to play. Another mask to wear.

And Goddess knows he was good at wearing masks.


	18. Nonexistent Grief

His hand hovered over the door, a few more seconds’ hesitation not making any difference.

He knew that she knew he was here, as soon as she’d gotten used to her surroundings it had become near-impossible to sneak up on her. The last person to manage that had almost ended up with a broken arm.

This was stupid. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She already hated him, what did it matter if he did this and she hated him more?

But still… Claude had said they needed to stick together.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

He took a step back, withdrawing his hand and fully intending to turn away.

And then she opened the door.

**

You’d known he was there.

And you could tell it was him before you even opened the door.

No one else would have paced and sighed so much without actually knocking. No one else would have given up before even trying to make contact with you.

So you opened the door before he could take a step back, tilting your head slightly as you observed his surprise. It was almost amusing to watch him fumble for words he had already decided not to say.

He was talking quickly, flitting from one thought to another without really revealing _why_ he’d been standing outside your door for the past ten minutes. You yawned, glancing back into your room, at the desk covered with notes and the dictionary that lay open on top of them. He probably didn’t realise just how much you’d relied on him.

You were still upset. And you made that fact clear to him as you turned back, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow expectantly. He stopped, swallowing thickly at the dangerous expression on your face.

“Listen, I…” Sylvain’s shoulders slumped, his gaze darting away for a moment. “I’m sorry. I know I can’t really apologise enough but I really am sorry. I promised no one would call you a barbian and then… _I_ did.”

Your gaze dropped, and you leant on the doorway as he spoke. Loathe as you were to admit it… It had been lonely without him. 

No, you weren’t about to forgive him, or even trust him for that matter… But you missed being able to at least talk to someone.

And you were stuck in the middle of a very hostile country, with no real idea of how to get home. To make it back alive, you were going to need to make up with him.

Or at least pretend to.

“And there’s… Something else-”

“(y/n)! Sylvain!” Ashe called, drawing your attention. “Come quick, we think we found Flayn!”

**

“Still, that was a pretty reckless thing to do.”

She looked over the teacup she was gingerly holding with her left hand, blinking in surprise.

“Reckless?” She asked softly, blowing on her tea before taking a sip.

“Yeah, reckless.” Sylvain nodded to her bandaged right arm. “You did something dangerous without thinking it through.”

“You were… In trouble.” She replied, putting her cup down. “I _helped_.”

“You sure did.” Sylvain laughed, picking up his own cup of tea. “And thanks to you, Flayn and Monica were the only ones who needed to be carried out of that creepy labyrinth.”

It had honestly been a surprise when (y/n) had thrown herself in front of him like that. He’d gotten the impression that she still wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, and he hadn’t expected her to.

Part of him didn’t want her to.

But, nevertheless, she’d saved him. Though she’d injured her arm in the process, it hadn’t seemed to have bothered her as much as anyone expected. It seemed that she didn’t actually have a non-dominant hand, which surprised just about everyone.

Except Claude, who smiled knowingly, as if another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.

Sylvain still wasn’t sure what the schemer’s game was, but the fact that neither he nor (y/n) had been dragged in front of Rhea and forced to answer to her about the situation yet was… Very telling.

For whatever reason, Claude von Riegan wanted to keep (y/n)’s identity a secret almost as badly as Sylvain did.

The thought of being a pawn in some twisted game crossed the redhead’s mind. Claude may very well be playing a far more dangerous game than anyone could anticipate, or he could just be looking out for his fellow students.

All of it was so intricate and easy to get wrapped up in.

But _this_... Sitting across from (y/n) with a cup of tea and talking to her as if nothing had gone wrong…

That was easy. 

Except for the letter burning a hole in his pocket. The letter that seemed to grow heavier with each passing minute that he refused to tell her.

“Are you… Well?”

The question caught him by surprise, and he looked up into her eyes with a confused frown. Then finally he nodded.

“Yeah, it’s just…” He reached into his pocket, hesitating a few moments longer before taking out the letter. “Goddess… I don’t know how to tell you this…”

**

You probably shouldn’t have worried about it.

There was a good chance that no one in the monastery would notice the brooch, let alone know what it meant and where it was from. It wasn’t really the sort of tradition that anyone not from Sreng would hear about, after all.

But you still decided to find a new way to wear it. It was one of the few things you actually owned, after all. While all the other students had all sorts of knick knacks and personal possessions like dolls, teddy bears or books you only really had the essentials.

The only possessions you’d brought from Sreng could fit perfectly inside of a small bag, and all of them were necessities for daily life rather than anything with sentimental value. The only item with any sentimental value that you had was the ribbon Sylvain had given you.

And now, you supposed, this brooch too.

It told people that you were the matriarch of your family. But that only meant something in Sreng. To anyone else, it was just an old and faded gold star with twin swords crossed behind it.

But it meant something to _you_, and it was all you had left of your mother now.

Which was why you knocked gently on Hilda’s door, waiting patiently as you waited for her to open it.

While you hadn’t spent nearly as much time with her as your fellow Blue Lions, her hobby of accessory-making had always fascinated you. Just the idea of making something specifically to look pretty was… Strange.

And she had been genuinely good company when the golden deer had borrowed you for a mission. You decided that if anyone could help you, it was probably her. You might even get a fun afternoon out of it.

The door opened, revealing the pink-haired girl herself.

“Oh, (y/n), hey!” She said, smiling widely. “I know it’s my turn to water the flowers but I’m _really_ busy studying so-”

You shook your head.

“You’re… Not here to get me to go water the flowers?” Hilda frowned, studying you for a moment. “Well, in that case, what can I do for you?”

You held out the brooch, and she looked at it for a long moment before gingerly picking it up.

“A brooch?” She asked, looking back up at you. “It looks pretty old, is it yours?”

You nodded.

“Oh, I know!” She smiled broadly, grabbing hold of one of your hands. “You want me to take you into town and help you pick out a new one!”

You quickly shook your head, miming putting the brooch around your neck.

“You… Want me to turn it into a necklace?” She frowned again, looking distastefully down at the brooch before looking up at you again. “Are you sure? I could make you a new necklace instead… I know I could make you a _really_ cute one!”

You frowned, gaze dropping to the floor. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“Unless… Is this super important to you? Like that old necklace Leonie has?” She smiled softly at you, stepping back into her room. “Come on, I’ll teach you how to make accessories. After I do this for you, we can make each other something nice.”

**

Sylvain honestly couldn’t tell if (y/n) was handling the news he’d delivered well.

She was practicing for her Hero exam by sparring with Felix despite her injured arm. At first the blue-haired boy had declined, but upon seeing her wipe the floor with Sylvain (she had _far_ too much fun with that), he agreed and they’d been sparring for almost an hour.

But she’d been slowing down, clearly exhausted but refusing to stop.

It went from an even split between which of them won to Felix winning nearly every round.

“Again.” She sighed, pulling herself onto her feet.

No one was around, thankfully, and Felix seemed to not even notice that she was talking to him. Sylvain sighed, wondering how he’d ended up with a best friend and a fiancé who enjoyed sparring so much. The friendly competition that had sparked between them was almost irritating.

Sylvain would almost be jealous if he didn’t already know that Felix wasn’t interested in her like that. The swordsman wasn’t exactly nice to her outside of the training grounds, and only grudgingly complimented her every time she used a new technique on him, or an old one in an unexpected way.

She was knocked to the floor again.

And Sylvain winced as she got back up and was quickly knocked to the ground again.

And again.

And again.

Felix scowled after the third win in a row.

“This is pointless.” He grumbled, striding to the wall he’d taken his training sword from. “If you’re just going to lose every single bout you might as well pack up and go home.”

“But-”

Sylvain grimaced as his blue-haired friend rounded on the princess.

“I’m tired of fighting people who can’t even focus on what’s happening in front of them.” Felix snapped, standing in front of her once more. “I thought you might understand, after all, fighting’s all you really know, isn’t it? _Barbarian_.”

The blue-haired boy didn’t see the punch coming. The sickening crack echoed about the room, and Sylvain only just managed to rush forward and catch (y/n)’s arms before she could do any more damage.

Felix swore, hands flying to his face as the first rush of blood began.

Which was precisely when Dimitri and Byleth entered the training area, making Sylvain curse his rotten luck. The professor’s disappointed sigh broke the sudden silence. 

“Dimitri, please escort Felix to the infirmary.” She finally said, turning her gaze to an almost catatonic (y/n) and the poor redhead holding her up. “I hope one of you can explain this to me.”

It took Sylvain a few more seconds to realise that he was the only thing keeping his future wife on her feet. For the first time since he’d met her… She looked broken. He decided then and there that she was not, in fact, coping. She’d been letting it all pile up, unable (or perhaps unwilling) to show her emotions.

And Felix’s comment had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Professor, it was my fault.” Sylvain found himself speaking before he could stop himself. “Felix called (y/n) a weakling and I guess I saw red… Sorry.”

“You couldn’t have waited to lose your cool until after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?” Byleth asked, crossing her arms. “Pray that Felix will be able to fight in time for the battle, or I’m benching all three of you. Got it?”

“Understood.” Sylvain nodded, shooting her a charming grin as he gently escorted (y/n) out of the room.

The girl merely nodded, shoulders slumping in defeat as she let Sylvain lead her wherever he wanted. 

**

You followed him, still in a daze. Somehow you weren’t surprised at Felix’s name-calling but… It had still hurt.

You thought maybe you were getting through to him, that he would see you for something other than a girl from Sreng. But you’d thought wrong, apparently.

Sylvain chose to stop under a tree in the courtyard, carefully glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot.

“Hey,” He murmured, loosely holding onto your shoulders so you could pull away if you wanted to. “I know you probably aren’t, and I’m not sure I really have a right to ask but-”

“I am fine.” You sniffed, hastily wiping your eyes with your sleeve as you looked up at him. “You… You heard what he called me.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You did not-”

“I’m apologising for Felix,” Sylvain shot you the smallest of smiles. “Goddess knows he won’t do it. He’s one of my closest friends but I guess I couldn’t expect him to change his opinion of you just like that.”

You looked down at the grass, apprehension making your stomach tie itself in knots. It was stupid to get so mad over one word.

But did it reveal something about you that would never belong in Fodlan? 

You glanced up at Sylvain then back down at the ground. Right now, more than anything, you needed a friend. And so far, Sylvain seemed to be the only person in the monastery who was truly on your side.

While Seteth was certainly an ally… He was too close to Rhea for you to fully trust him.

“Do I… Belong here?” You asked, holding onto your forearm with one hand.

“What are you talking about? Of course you belong here.”

“But Felix said-”

“Felix says a lot of things.” You looked up to see Sylvain smiling softly at you. “I can’t tell you that he doesn’t mean any of it but… He’s just one person out of thousands. Don’t let it get to you.”

“He said I… Only know battle.” You stepped away from him, standing just out of arms’ reach.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be talking to me.” He hesitantly reached an arm out toward you, then dropped it back to his side.

“My mother is… Gone.” You whispered, grabbing your elbows as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. “But I… I do not feel anything… I feel… _Nothing_.”

“Hey…” He took a slow step forward, then another.

You stiffened when an arm wrapped around your shoulder, but relaxed after a moment as he pulled you closer until his other arm was wrapped around you and he was hugging you close to his chest.

“I get it,” Sylvain murmured. “You feel numb, yeah? Like you _know_ you should be feeling something but you just… Don’t. And you’re angry with yourself for not feeling anything. You feel like you need to punish yourself for being so heartless, so you tell yourself all sorts of things that aren’t true just so you can feel _something_.”

You blinked. How had he managed to describe the feeling so perfectly when even you had struggled to do so?

How did he know?

And then it hit you.

_Miklan_.

He slowly pulled away, taking hold of your hands instead.

“You don’t _have_ to break down crying or anything, but if you do or even if you just need someone to talk to...” Sylvain lightly squeezed your hands before releasing his hold on them. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

He’d broken promises before.

You knew that much, especially with all the girls who would scream, cry or yell at him because he’d been unfaithful.

He was a liar and he broke promises on a daily basis but…

Somehow, you knew he wasn’t going to break this one.

Somehow you knew that he wasn’t what everyone thought he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! This chapter took... Some time.
> 
> Long Chapter. Lots of POV changes. Plot stuff happens.
> 
> Am I aware that Hero is a male-only class in Three Houses? Absolutely.  
Do I care? Absolutely not. Girls could be Heroes in Awakening and that's good enough for me.


	19. Behind the Prince's Mask

You sat in the greenhouse, a book propped open on your lap and a pile of papers scattered all over the table beside you.

The only noises were the scratch of your quill on paper and the brush of leaves as Dedue tended to the plants. Neither of you had said a word to each other, preferring instead to work in a comfortable silence.

You needed the silence. Despite how much you’d improved, it was difficult to focus on the writing in front of you. And it was even more difficult to take notes.

You and Annette had already promised to exchange notes later that day, but your mind had been a cluttered mess ever since the events of Remire village. You weren’t even sure why you’d chosen the greenhouse to work, it wasn’t exactly reminiscent of home, nor did it give you a strange sense of comfort.

You supposed that it was because Dedue was the only person who spent any real amount of time here. And with him, you were never expected to interact in any way. He never asked questions, and never tried to strike up conversations. Sylvain had told you that nobody trusted him, but you still weren’t sure why. Everybody spoke of the Tragedy of Duscur as if everyone else around them already knew.

And you’d frankly been too scared to ask.

Sylvain was definitely someone you were trying to avoid. He’d been keeping a close eye on you ever since you’d broken Felix’s nose. It was as if he were expecting you to break down at any moment. You expected it to come crashing down any moment, a wave of grief that would force tears from you at the worst possible moment.

But still, nothing happened.

You’d felt numb for a while, but Remire snapped you out of it. And now you were… Confused. Scared. Ridiculously Uneasy.

The things Dimitri had said…

You shuddered just thinking of it. How had he gone from kind and honour-driven to… _That_ in such a short time? That intricate and cleverly crafted mask of a prince who longed to help his people had fallen away and the figure underneath had terrified you.

You weren’t used to fear. Even when you flinched away from your fellow students’ crests you hadn’t really felt all that afraid, especially with the knowledge that they wouldn’t use that power on you. Growing up in the palace, you had no room for fear.

But now that you were away from your home, it became increasingly clear to you that you were capable of so many more emotions than you expected. You tried to ignore them for the most part but the fear that had settled in your stomach was steadfastly refusing to go away. 

“You are troubled.”

You jumped, glancing up from the page you’d been blankly staring at for the last few minutes to look at the owner of the voice. Dedue wasn’t even looking at you, still completely focused on the task at hand.

“Our mission last month put a strain on us all.” He continued, still not looking at you. “I do not think anyone would blame you for not completing the classwork.”

You sighed, quietly shutting the book on your lap. He was right. You could probably get away with not doing all the work considering what had happened in the past week.

Sylvain got away with it even when _nothing_ was happening.

You stood, picking up the papers and neatly stacking them on top of your chair. It was silent for a few minutes longer before Dedue stood, brushing the dirt off of his uniform.

“I have a question.”

You paused, tilting your head slightly.

“You do not mind my presence, and I wondered why.” He frowned slightly, examining you as he thought about what to say next. “I suppose it is because you are not from Fodlan.”

You blinked, grabbing onto the table beside you as the revelation washed over you. He knew?

_He knew._

“I do not plan on telling anyone.” Dedue shook his head, continuing about his business as if he hadn’t just momentarily turned your world upside-down. “So long as you do not intend to harm his highness, your secret is your own. I assume you are not here to harm him?”

“I… Am not.” You muttered, eyes downcast as the boy whipped around at the sound of your voice.

“Then there is no problem.” He nodded, then turned back to reach for the nearby watering can. “I am not much for conversation, but… Should you ever need company, I will be here.”

“Thank you.”

You gathered your book and papers, hugging them close to you as you escaped into the open air of the monastery. You’d barely interacted with Dedue and yet somehow he’d _known_...

Was it really that obvious that you weren’t from Fodlan?

Or was it just because he, too, was an outsider?

**

“Before you all leave I’d like to remind you that we still have yet to nominate someone for the White Heron Cup.” Byleth called, making a few of you classmates wince. “If someone doesn’t volunteer soon, I’ll pick one of you at random.”

“Professor, surely you would not-”

“I would.” The professor cut Dimitri off, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What about the students who aren’t very skilled or confident in their dancing skills?” Ashe asked from his seat across the room from you.

You glanced uneasily at him, suddenly reminded of your lack of dancing talent. Or knowledge for that matter. Sure, you danced back home but… Well, from what you’d gathered, the dances of Fodlan were vastly different from those of Sreng.

“I thought we’d already chosen Flayn as our representative.” Annette said, a confused frown on her face.

“We did, but my brother said no…” Flayn looked sullenly at her desk as she spoke. “I truly wished to represent the class but I’m afraid I cannot.”

“I’ll do it.”

Byleth arched a brow at the speaker, looking about as surprised as she could.

“Sylvain?” She asked, her head tilting ever so slightly. “I didn’t expect that from you, are you sure you’ve been paying attention to the current conversation?”

“You didn’t let me finish professor,” Sylvain grinned, leaning forward on his desk. “I’ll represent the class, _provided_ a lovely lady or two is willing to help me brush up on my dancing skills.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to decide if you were pleased that he’d taken one for the team, or if you were disappointed in his comment.

Ingrid lightly smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“My apologies professor,” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be the one to help Sylvain brush up on his technique. That way there will be no distractions.”

“Come on, Ingrid.” Sylvain winked. “I’m sure I could find _plenty_ of distraction-”

Byleth slammed her hand onto his desk, making just about everyone jump.

“Thank you for the offer, Ingrid.” She said finally, shooting Sylvain a very serious glare. “But Sylvain will have to report for a special dance lesson with the rest of the representatives in two days’ time. I’m sure that will be more than enough practice for you, mister Gautier.”

“Yeah, sure thing, professor.” He stood, grinning as if the professor hadn’t just scared the life out of him. “See you there.”

The rest of the class stood too, and you followed Mercedes and Annette out of the classroom. Mercedes smiled softly at you, gently taking hold of your arm.

“Annie and I were about to go and have some tea if you’d like to join us, (y/n).” She suggested.

“Oh, I hope you say yes (y/n)!” Annette said, taking hold of your other arm. “It’s not as much fun when you’re not there, and we always end up eating way too many sweets!”

You smiled, thinking it over as they waited expectantly.

It _had_ been a while since you’d agreed to have tea with them. At first they hadn’t understood why, but you suspected that Sylvain had put in a good word for you when you weren’t looking.

For a while there you hadn’t seen much point to sitting silently and wishing you were back home so you could see your mother one last time. It hadn’t felt fair to sit and ruin the mood of their usually light-hearted tea parties, but lately you’d been feeling lighter.

And you really did want the company today.

So you nodded, and quickly found yourself with a steaming cup of tea in your hands as the pair chatted away. They tried to include you, really they did, but even you had to admit that it was hard to have a detailed conversation with someone who only communicated with nods and head shakes.

“Do you know how to dance, (y/n)?” Mercedes asked, a warm smile on her face as you sipped your tea.

You shook your head, hoping that it wasn’t too absurd for a young noblewoman from Faerghus.

“Your parents never taught you?” Annette asked, eyes wide with surprise.

You put your cup down, shaking your head once more.

“Well, it’s a good thing Sylvain volunteered for the white heron cup,” Mercedes commented, putting her own cup down. “I’d hate to think about how stressful it would have been for you if the professor had ended up making you our representative.”

“At least now you’ll have a lot more time to learn the steps.” Annette smiled, hastily putting her cup down before she was suddenly holding onto your hands, trying to pull you from your seat. “I can teach you right now!”

“Annie, perhaps you should wait until we’ve all finished our tea,” Mercedes suggested, shooting you an apologetic smile. “We wouldn’t want it to get cold, after all.”

“Yeah…” Annette nodded, letting go of your hands with a sigh. “You’re right. Sorry (y/n).”

You shrugged, pretending to be unruffled by your friend’s sudden movements while you watched her return to her seat from the corner of your eye.

As unreasonable as it was, you couldn’t seem to break that habit. Annette and Mercedes treated you like you’d been part of their friendship from the very beginning, and yet you still didn’t quite trust them. They were too welcoming for your liking, and you still couldn’t understand how they could let you into their circle of trust so easily.

Paranoia had been your closest friend for most of your life, it had kept you alive and uninjured for the most part. But it had also made it hard for you to really connect with anyone, and here in the academy you had become hyper-aware of the fact that not everybody expected those that they trusted (and in some cases those that they didn’t) to stab them in the back at any given moment.

You really had _tried_ to relax around your fellow students, or at the very least around Sylvain, but you couldn’t help the nagging feeling at the back of your mind that you weren’t safe here. That everyone who spoke to or befriended you was only one step away from turning on you.

“(y/n)?”

You blinked a couple of times, looking up at Mercedes with an embarrassed half-smile.

“You look tired,” She said, reaching across the table to gently touch your hand. “We won’t be upset if you need to go and get some rest, you know.”

You shook your head, picking up your cup of tea and widening your smile.

“At the very least, I hope you spend our next day off doing something relaxing rather than sparring with people all day like you normally do.” Annette suggested, her tea all but forgotten. “Oh! You should come into town with us! We’re going to look for a dress for Mercie to wear to the ball.”

“Maybe we could look for one for you too.” Mercedes said, smiling encouragingly at you.

You frowned, wondering where this talk of dresses had even come from. You’d assumed that the dress uniforms you were all required to bring to the academy but hadn’t worn yet would have been the proper attire for the ball. But alas, you were going to have to either wear one of the dresses you’d brought from the Gautier estate or choose one with Annette and Mercedes.

You were tempted to refuse, but the thought of going to the training grounds and sparring with Dimitri as if nothing had happened… It didn’t sit well with you.

So you nodded hesitantly, almost wishing that you had anything else to do that day. Or that you could find a reasonable excuse for skipping the ball entirely.

Fodlan dresses were so tiresome.

And impractical.

With all the dangers surrounding the monastery lately, you wondered if Rhea was in her right mind to host a grand ball at a time like this. If someone attacked the monastery during it, none of the students would be armed. Even if they _were_, none of the female students would be dressed to properly fight.

With all the frills, layers and ribbons on those things they called dresses, you were surprised Fodlan women could even walk. At least if you got something floor-length you wouldn’t be forced to wear those ridiculous little shoes that the girls wore to make themselves taller.

On the bright side, it was only one night.

And the end of the school year was drawing ever closer.

Soon enough, you would be free of this place.

Soon enough, you’d be free of all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedue is the real homie.


	20. The Pull of Fate

“How about this one?”

You turned away from the shelf of folded dresses at the sound of Mercedes’ voice. She was holding up a very frilly, very yellow, monstrosity that made you wonder how everyone in this place hadn’t died of embarrassment just yet.

Yes, it was certainly pretty.

But you couldn’t imagine wearing it yourself.

You weren’t really made for bright colours, they didn’t suit you as well as they suited some of your half-sisters and brothers who wore them all the time. No, you were far better suited to dark greys, deep reds and golds… Colours that all but screamed ‘stay away’.

You scrunched up your face at the dress, shaking your head for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

Annette and Mercedes had found their own dresses easily enough, both of them perfectly attuned to what the other might like.

But you were an enigma, and even you were struggling to find anything you’d be even remotely comfortable in. Something you could at least hide a dagger under.

You browsed aimlessly, hoping to pass enough time that the three of you would have to go home and you could have a good enough excuse to skip the ball. Sylvain _had_ told you to have fun, but you didn’t really see the fun in looking at clothes all day in the hopes of finding something you’d only wear once.

_  
“They want to take you dress shopping?” Sylvain asked, frowning for a moment before he shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I assumed that the ball would be all dress uniforms, even for the girls. Now that we know I was wrong, I don’t see why you shouldn’t go and spend the afternoon picking out a dress with them. You didn’t exactly pack one for the ball anyway.”_

_You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off._

_“And if you’re worried about money, don’t be.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My father seemed to have seen this coming well before we did and sent some just for you to pick out a dress for the ball. I’ll bring it over to your room later today.”_

_You sighed, crossing your arms._

_“Oh come on, don’t be like that.” Sylvain said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “I know you don’t want to go to the ball but you can’t really skip it without attracting attention.”_

_You nodded, a sigh escaping your lips as you looked back up at him._

_“Try not to worry too much about the dress. Annette and Mercedes are good friends, I’m sure you’ll have fun… At least one of us will get to have some fun.” He grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Jeralt found out I’d be dancing for the class and now he’s decided to offer his assistance with the dance lessons tomorrow.”_

_You stifled a giggle, putting a hand to your mouth as you imagined Sylvain trying to dance with Byleth while Jeralt was glaring at him. _

_“Of course you find that funny,” your future husband said, trying to look upset despite the grin on his face. “But hey, after all that’s been going on lately… It’s nice to see you smiling.” _

Your eyes caught a corner of red fabric in one of the many shelves in the store. You ran a hand over it, then gently pulled it off of the shelf and unfolded it, holding it against you in a moment of pure curiosity.

It was almost perfect; floor-length, not too flashy… With a couple of adjustments you would be able to wear it to the ball just fine.

You smiled, finding it funny that such a dress would just happen to catch your eye in the latest of a good many tailors. It was almost like-

Like it was fate.

The dress was red. Just like the blanket the seer had chosen for you at birth. You blanched, hearing the very words that had haunted your childhood echoing in your mind.

_A path stained with blood. A future stained red._

You shook your head to clear it, hastily trying to refold the dress and hide it before Annette or Mercedes could see. You couldn’t wear it. Not when it reminded you of who you used to be.

Who you were supposed to be.

Who the seers said you would become…

“(y/n) have you-” Mercedes cut herself off, studying the dress for a moment before her eyes lit up. “Oh my. Annie come look!”

Annette rounded a shelf, stopping in her tracks at the sight of the dress which you were feebly considering trying to hide despite both girls looking directly at it.

“It’s… Perfect.” Annette whispered, giving you an encouraging smile. “I’m glad we didn’t just pick out that grey one for you in that other shop, this one is _way_ better.”

“It will need a couple of adjustments,” Mercedes commented, frowning for a moment before another smile bloomed on her face. “But I can deal with that! We still have some time, so let’s get this dress and then we can go to that cafe we saw on our way here.”

You nodded, still in a half-daze as you went to find the owner of the store. You almost wanted to feign feeling unwell so you could skip the cafe and conveniently lose the dress on the way back to the monastery but…

Well, Sylvain _had_ told you to relax and have fun, hadn’t he?

It wasn’t as if one little dress was going to change anything. 

**

Sylvain, on the other hand, was trying to focus on his dance lesson with Byleth.

But Jeralt hadn’t shown up yet, and he wondered when the knight captain was going to appear and personally end the redhead where he stood.

Or rather, _danced_. Without a partner.

It was just as awkward for Sylvain as it was for the rest of the dancers, if not more so with him being the only male contestant. Dorothea was, naturally, the Black Eagles’ choice, and somehow Claude had roped Hilda into being the representative for the Golden Deer. At this point, Sylvain was seriously considering just distracting Seteth until after the competition so that Flayn could participate.

But he was here now, and Byleth was watching him with a critical stare. The other professors were talking their students through the steps, but his was just watching his every move and frowning at every slight misstep. How on earth a mercenary knew all the steps for a ballroom dance was well beyond him, but he couldn’t deny that he’d gotten a lot better in the past few minutes.

Of course, that was more to do with his being rusty when it came to dancing than with Byleth’s non-existent instructing.

“So, Professor,” Sylvain started, earning a raised eyebrow from the woman. “Where did you learn to dance like this?”

“My father.” She replied flatly, gesturing for him to continue.

“I don’t suppose you know where Jeralt learnt to-”

“No.”

“Right…” He glanced away, watching as Dorothea adjusted her posture based on Manuela’s instruction before turning back to Byleth. “Where is Jeralt anyway? I thought he volunteered to help you out with this lesson.”

“I told him I could handle it myself,” The professor replied, tilting her head slightly. “Try to keep your feet shoulder-width apart.”

“Oh, I assumed he was only volunteering because he heard that I was the class’ representative.” Sylvain changed the position of his feet, glancing up at the professor with a slight grin.

“He was.”

His grin quickly turned into a grimace.

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?” He muttered, stopping the ridiculous dancing without a partner thing. “Come on, professor, I can’t see how dancing without a partner is going to help me win this thing.”

“You won’t have a partner during the competition.” Byleth crossed her arms, carefully studying him. “Which is probably the only reason I managed to convince my father not to spend the whole lesson glaring at you. Now, start again.”

“The whole point of dancing is that you need two people to do it.” Sylvain sighed, going through the familiar motions again. “This competition gets more ridiculous the longer I think about it.”

“So stop thinking about it.”

“Right, it’s not like I’m preparing for it or anything…”

“Think of it more as practice for the ball.” Byleth said after a few moments of silence. “I assume you’re going to ask (y/n) to dance.”

“I what?” He asked, fumbling his next few steps as he tried to work his way through the conversation.

How had they gotten onto this topic again?

“(y/n).” Byleth repeated. “You can’t expect me to have not noticed.”

“Noticed… What, exactly?”

“Do you recall when she broke Felix’s nose?”

“Professor, I already told you I-”

“Didn’t have Felix’s blood on your knuckles.” Byleth interrupted, fixing him with an unimpressed look. “Unlike a certain quiet noblewoman we both know.”

“That’s not- She didn’t-” Sylvain’s shoulders slumped momentarily before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. “OK, so I took the blame for her, so what? I’m used to getting in trouble and she hasn’t broken a rule since our first day here. I was just being nice.”

“Alright.” The professor agreed, returning to the critical gaze she’d been sporting at the start of the lesson. “Don’t tense up like that, you’re dancing not arguing.”

“Right, sorry.” He loosed a breath, somehow managing to relax despite the sudden turn the conversation had taken.

It seemed that he was going to have to be more careful around Byleth, she was more observant than he’d originally thought. And she’d agreed with him far too quickly when he’d gone on the defensive. Wherever she’d gotten the idea that he fancied (y/n)... He didn’t seem able to convince her otherwise.

He glanced to the left at the sound of laughter, and tensed at the sight of the very object of his thoughts laughing with Mercedes and Annette as they rounded a corner. Had it really been that long since they left for town?

He glanced back at Byleth, who had directed the smallest, almost imperceptible, knowing smile at him.

Sylvain scowled, throwing all of his focus into the dance practice.

He didn’t fancy her.

***

The energy at the academy had been charged with excitement ever since the white heron cup.

As almost everyone expected, Dorothea had won the competition. She was, by far the most charming dancer of the group.

Especially with Hilda basically not even trying to win and Sylvain with his head in the clouds. He’d shrugged the loss off with another of his prize-winning smiles, but as soon as Dimitri asked him where his mind had wandered off to his charade shattered. He turned a noticeable shade of red and quickly became defensive, insisting that he just hadn’t danced in a while.

But it was hard to miss the fact that he’d been unable to meet your gaze that day. In fact, he had avoided you with a surprising amount of skill.

Today he’d gone back to his usual self. Perhaps he’d taken the loss harder than you first thought?

“This is the only ball of the year, and I see why.” Dimitri commented, cutting into your thoughts. “Everyone is absurdly excited…”

You crossed your arms, looking away moments before his gaze turned to you.

“Your highness, you sound so detached.” Dedue said, dragging the prince’s attention away. “We are all encouraged to enjoy the ball tomorrow.”

Dimitri grimaced, a sigh escaping his lips. “Right you are. What a burden…”

“I never thought I’d be saying this, but I agree.” Felix said, a hand resting on his hip. “I’d rather be swinging a sword than wasting my time with some girl at a ball.”

You were inclined to agree, still not really seeing the point of it all. But if the ball presented a chance for you to avoid a conversation with Dimitri that he clearly wanted to have…

“Felix! Your Highness! You must be joking, right?” Sylvain’s voice beside you made you look up from the ground. “This is our chance to dance with all of the ladies of the academy to our hearts’ content. You wish to throw away the best day of the whole year for sword practice? Insanity, I tell you!”

You snorted, shaking your head slightly at his words.

For all his talk of despising nobles and not trusting women, he sure was giving both a good chance to put a knife in his back.

Though you supposed that wasn’t really the way of things here.

“It seems like (y/n) is of the same opinion as us,” Dimitri chuckled, making you frown. “I take it you’re not much of a dancer, either?”

“Actually she’s really good at dancing!” Annette chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. “Isn’t that right, Mercie?”

“Yes, (y/n)’s a natural.” Mercedes nodded, shooting you a proud smile.

You gave her a shy smile, ducking your head in embarrassment.

“I think we can afford to be excited about the ball,” Ashe started. “After all, it’s not like we get to do things like this very often.”

“Too true, Ashe.” Sylvain slung an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. “In fact, I’m going to give you a crash course in chatting up girls. By tomorrow, you’ll be an expert!”

You frowned, wondering if perhaps the redhead was laying it on a little thick. Everyone had noticed by now that he wasn’t flirting nearly as often as he used to. But ever since the white heron cup... 

Well, it was as if a switch had been flicked somewhere in his brain and reset him back to the way he was when you first arrived in Fodlan. He was definitely making a conscious effort to flirt more, and it was jarring to see such a sudden change.

“Actually, I’d much prefer if someone could just teach me how to dance…” Ashe replied, gingerly stepping away from Sylvain.

“Don’t worry about the dancing part, I can teach you that, easy!” Annette said, smiling brightly at Ashe.

“Surely the ball warrants just a tiny bit of makeup, Ingrid?” Mercedes asked. “Just a smidge?”

You cringed at the thought of makeup. After Annette had insisted on trying some on you earlier that day and you’d come up with a nasty red rash on your wrist…

Well, you hadn’t known what being ‘allergic’ to something meant until then. Even now you were hiding your wrist as best you could so no one would worry. Or even ask.

At Mercedes’ words, Annette shot you an apologetic look.

“I’ll…” Ingrid hesitated, a resigned sigh escaping her lips before she continued. “I’ll think about it.”

“Then it’s settled!” Annette cheered, immediately brightening. “Tomorrow morning we’ll meet in Ingrid’s room!”

Dimitri chuckled.

“You know… There’s no telling where life will take us after we leave here.” He started, a slight smile creeping onto his face. “If only we could find a way to come together again, just like this…”

“A fine notion your Highness.” Dedue agreed, smiling for perhaps the first time since you’d met him. “Perhaps five years from now?”

“Five years from now?” Dimitri asked, frowning for a moment. “Ah! That’s when Garreg Mach Monastery will be holding its millenium festival.”

“By then we’ll be addressing Your Highness as Your Majesty instead!” Ingrid added, smiling at the thought.

“That’s right.” Sylvain sighed, glancing at you as he thought about what would have happened in five years’ time. “I suppose we all know it’s coming, but by then you’ll be far removed from us.”

“Come now, you know me better than that.” Dimitri shook his head. “My title might change, but I won’t.”

You grimaced, looking away from the group once more. That version of the prince you’d seen at Remire… You couldn’t keep it out of your mind.

“And it won’t just be me, you know.” Dimitri continued. “Five years from now, you’ll all have your own stuffy positions to contend with. But as I understand it, the festivities at the millenium festival will be of a scale far beyond anything we’ve yet seen… In other words, the perfect excuse for all of us to return here.”

“Ooh, a reunion? That sounds fun!” Annette said, her smile somehow getting even brighter than it already was. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“I’d love for you to be there as well, Professor.” Dimitri offered, turning everyone’s attention to Byleth. “After all, you’re the heart of the Blue Lion House.”

“I’ll be there.”

You blinked, surprise taking over your face at how quickly and easily she’d agreed to come. You spared a glance at Sylvain, still unsure of whether or not you’d even be in Fodlan in five years’ time.

There was every chance that your father would call for your head the moment he found out you’d disobeyed his orders.

Would you be able to come to the millennium festival? Would you even still be alive for it?

These thoughts plagued you for the rest of the night, even as you nodded and forced a bright smile onto your face when Annette asked if you would be there. Even as Sylvain bid you goodnight before trudging up the stairs towards his dorm.

This was normally the time for consulting a seer. They would look into your future and tell you what you needed to hear.

But for the first time ever, you were unable to do so.

For the first time in your life… Your future was unclear. 

And it terrified you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy that took me a while.
> 
> I was wondering when I'd hit a block and it finally happened oof.
> 
> On a side note, I've started classes for the year! I only have two or three full days a week though, so I still have plenty of free time outside of it.


	21. The Moment He Knew

Byleth wasn’t really used to social gatherings.

At least, not ones with _this many people_.

As a mercenary on the road with her father, the most time she spent with other people outside of her work was in whatever pub, tavern or inn they could afford to buy drinks in. And it was normally a rowdy and uncivilized affair.

But here, in this gigantic ballroom…

She felt more than a little out of place.

With the girls all in beautiful, floor-length dresses and the boys donning dress uniforms with designs based on where they were from…

Well. At least she wasn’t expected to dance.

While her father had taught her dance, _’just in case’_, she wasn’t exactly going to go out of her way to say she enjoyed it. She was happy to stand beside Manuela and observe, barely listening to the other woman’s comments until-

“Is that…” Manuela nudged the younger woman, then subtly pointed in the direction she was looking. “My, my, professor. It looks to me like (y/n) is going to have a lot of fellas chasing after her tonight.”

Byleth glanced in the indicated direction, unable to stop the smile on her face as she beheld the four students who had just walked in. Mercedes, Annette and (y/n) with their arms all linked together, already laughing at something Annette had just said. Ingrid was right behind them, already looking uncomfortable in a stunning blue dress.

But Manuela was right, (y/n) had gone from the quiet and unassuming girl in the class to… Well, she almost looked like royalty. Already quite a few of the male students had noticed her arrival, some were staring quite openly while others stole a glance when they thought she wasn’t looking.

But Byleth was more interested in the reaction of one particular student. Finally, she spotted his tousled red hair in the crowd, he had his back to the doors and was chatting with Ashe and Caspar.

Caspar was first to notice, and he nudged Ashe who looked up and smiled broadly. Mercedes called out to the boys, gaining Sylvain’s attention and making the redhead turn.

He was going to see her in three, two, one-

His jaw dropped.

For a few pain-stakingly long seconds, he was completely frozen. For once, Sylvain had been rendered speechless. And then his brain restarted and he grinned, doing an over-the-top bow for the ladies before saying something to them that he’d probably already said several times tonight.

“Do you think he’ll ask her to dance?” Byleth said, turning to find Manuela had disappeared.

But when she turned back, (y/n) was gone.

And that was when Claude asked her to dance.

**

Hubert looked at you as if he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to dance with you or kill you.

You, for one, definitely didn’t want to dance with him. But he’d asked and Hilda told you that ball etiquette commanded that you accept an invitation to dance from everyone who asked, no matter how much you didn’t like them.

So here you were, suffering under his scrutinizing gaze with as much dignity as you could muster. Which was, weirdly enough, quite a lot.

For almost half the dance he looked at you weirdly, as if you were an ant and he was holding a magnifying glass but hadn’t yet decided whether or not he was going to use it on you.

Until finally he spoke.

“You must be hiding quite the secret,” He sighed, looking you up and down for a moment. “Considering you still refuse to speak to anyone here. My guess is you’re not just a minor noble from the north of Faerghus.”

You frowned at his comment. So that was why he suddenly took an interest in you. At a glance, you could quite clearly see Edelgard watching you from across the room as Dorothea regaled her with a tale from her opera days

The future emperor had seemed not to take an interest in you at first, but it had now become painfully clear to you that she had just been waiting for her moment to strike. And she had sent Hubert of all people to try and coax the truth out of you.

"Personally I couldn’t care less if you chose to join us, you are, after all, an enigma. We know nothing about you, nor have we been able to find anything out.” Hubert met your gaze with a dark smile. “It’s my duty to ensure that threats to Lady Edelgard are dealt with swiftly and quietly, no matter how much potential they may possess. I hope that, should you ever consider doing any harm to her, you remember what I’ve said to you.”

You frowned. 

He… Thought you were aiming to harm Edelgard?

You glanced over at her again, this time meeting her calculating gaze for a fleeting moment. You’d barely spent even a few minutes in the same room as her before tonight, sometimes it was easy to forget she was even enrolled at the academy. But the way she was looking at you now…

You shivered as you realised it almost felt familiar.

While you had forgotten her, she hadn’t come even close to forgetting about you.

You turned back to Hubert only to find him looking at you with an amused half-smile.

“Lady Edelgard will create a world where talent and skill are valued above all else, I wonder where you’ll fit into that picture.” He mused as the song finally came to an end. “Suffice to say you’d be better off aiding her than pandering to the whims of a nobleman who cares for nothing but himself.”

The slap wasn’t exactly loud. But it wasn’t quiet either.

The few students around you looked over with a curious glance, but turned away very quickly the moment they saw who had caused the noise.

You stared at Hubert for a few long moments, challenging him to strike back, or even to say something. He just stared back, surprise clear on his face as he gently rubbed at his now stinging cheek.

After waiting a little bit longer you turned on one heel, striding off the dance floor and away from Edelgard’s right hand man with the poise and grace of royalty. You looked at the future emperor one last time, raising your chin defiantly before turning away from her too.

If they wanted to start something, you were ready.

**

So maybe Sylvain _did_ have a thing for her.

It didn’t really matter… Did it?

After all, he was going to end up married to her anyway.

And he couldn’t deny that she was pretty. Especially not tonight.

The moment he saw her his heart had nearly stopped.

And for the second time that night, he thought it might just do that. He turned away for one second. _One second_ and he couldn’t find her. Normally he wouldn’t have cared, she could absolutely take care of herself, except for when Caspar told him that _Hubert_ had asked her to dance.

And now he couldn’t find her.

If she ended up dead because of him-

A disturbance on the other side of the floor caught his attention, and he saw her. (y/n) turned on one heel, leaving a recently slapped Hubert in her wake as she strode away, once more looking more like a princess than she’d ever looked since arriving in Fodlan.

Sylvain relaxed, a smile tugging on his lips as he watched her go.

But his smile slowly dropped as he saw Dimitri approach her, and the step back she immediately took when she noticed him.

He seemed to be speaking quite earnestly, perhaps offering an apology?

She was nodding along, looking like her usual self on the outside but Sylvain knew. He _knew_ that something was wrong.

His feet were moving before he even knew it, and he carefully crossed the dance floor, trying to close the space between them as fast as he could.

Because, for the first time ever, he realised that (y/n) was _afraid_.

***

“(y/n), may I have a word?”

You jumped, instinctively taking a step back at the sound of the prince’s voice beside you.

“My apologies,” He chuckled. “I did not mean to frighten you, I was just hoping to speak with you… About Remire…”

You swallowed, indicating with one hand for him to continue.

“I feel that I must apologise for my behaviour that day,” He began, fiddling with a part of his dress uniform as he spoke. “I caused a good deal of concern for our classmates, but it seems that I truly frightened you. What I said and did… It was unbecoming of me, and I hope that I can somehow make it up to you.”

You pursed your lips, pretending to mull it over as your eyes scanned the ballroom for an excuse to leave.

You wanted to trust him. Really you did.

But there was something… _Off_ about Dimitri.

Now that you’d caught a glimpse of it, you could see it in his eyes. Just behind the royal charm and the noble attitude… A strange sort of darkness that made your skin crawl. Felix’s choice of the word ‘Boar’ to describe him came to mind as you considered it.

Dimitri was still talking, and you maintained a careful distance from him even as he sought to explain himself to you. You just didn’t trust him anymore. But you were expected to have his back on the field, he was supposed to have yours, just like the rest of the class.

So you nodded mutely, plastering a fake smile onto your face as you pretended to accept an apology you hadn’t heard over the pounding of your own heart.

“(y/n), there you are!” Sylvain slid into the space beside you, a charming grin already on his face. “Is his highness boring you?”

You frowned, tilting your head as you looked up at him. Despite the grin he looked almost… Panicked.

Had he…?

No. He couldn’t have come over here just to rescue you. What did he even have to rescue you from? Like the rest of the class, he refused to see past the mask Dimitri wore every day. Refused to believe his friend could be anything like a monster.

You shrugged, watching from the corner of your eye as the crown prince of Faerghus looked first at you and then back to Sylvain.

"I was just making sure (y/n) hadn't noticed anything odd in the abandoned chapel while she was keeping an eye on it yesterday." Dimitri said, a quiet chuckle accompanying his words. "I suppose it is rather dull conversation for a ball."

"Geez your highness, I know you weren't looking forward to the ball but you don't have to drag your classmates down with you." Sylvain sighed, a teasing glint in his eyes. "How do you manage to talk about work with such a beautiful woman standing in front of you anyway? I've been talking to pretty girls all night but none have come even close to the one standing in front of me right now."

He carefully took hold of your hand, placing a gentle kiss to your fingers as he spoke. What Dimitri didn't notice was the soft squeeze that followed the gesture, and the reassuring look to go with it. Ah, so that's what he was doing.

But how had he known you wanted to escape from the prince?

"Based on that frown I'd say your words didn't find their mark," Dimitri smiled, amusement lining his face as he observed the two of you. "I don't think (y/n) is about to fall for your silver tongue, Sylvain."

"We'll just have to see about that, won't we?" The redhead grinned, gently tugging you in his direction. "Care to dance, my lady?"

***

Byleth wasn't an expert in emotion.

Far from it, in fact.

But somehow she knew that Sylvain was not just pretending to like (y/n). When she first pointed that fact out to him, he had gone out of his way to prove that he didn't fancy the young noblewoman by avoiding her at all costs, which only confirmed Byleth's suspicions.

But no, standing here thinking about why Sylvain did what he did wasn't what she wanted to be doing right now. After Claude, a slew of students had asked her to dance, and now that she'd finally caught a break she wanted to get out of the ballroom for a bit.

As she searched for an escape route, a flash of movement caught her eye. Sylvain did yet another exaggerated bow, asking (y/n) to dance if his grip on her hand was any indicator. The girl finally nodded, following the redhead as he gently led her onto the dance floor. He was always gentle with that girl, as if he was afraid she would shatter if he wasn't careful.

An irrational thought, but that's what fear normally was. Irrational.

(y/n) stumbled a bit, working clumsily through the steps until Sylvain steadied her, saying something akin to words of encouragement. The smile she gave him in exchange was one that could only be described as pure joy.

Byleth glanced to where Dimitri had been left alone only to find him watching the pair too, a ghost of a smile on his face. After a few more beats the prince turned away, slipping through the crowd and out a small door in the corner of the ballroom. Ah, so he too was tiring of the ball.

The professor began walking toward that door too, keeping an eye on her students as she went.

Sylvain tipped his head back with laughter, taking no real notice of the people around him as he simply enjoyed his time with his dance partner once more. For probably the first time since the school year began, the pair looked simply… Happy.

Their shoulders weren't weighed down by any burdens, and their smiles were unhindered by worries and doubts. It seemed that just for tonight, perhaps even just for that moment, they weren't nobles with responsibilities or students being placed in increasingly dangerous situations.

They were just two people enjoying their time together.

Byleth hesitated at the door, sparing a glance around the room to make sure nobody would notice her departure. Her eyes rested on Sylvain at the last moment and she saw, _she saw_.

The moment Sylvain Jose Gautier fell in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's time.
> 
> Sylvain finally caught some Feelings.
> 
> Sorry about the wait, but I really wanted to get this chapter right. I definitely wasn't playing the Cindered Shadows side story in every spare moment of my free time or anything >.> (But in all seriousness, I really did want to get this chapter just the way I wanted it. The side story coming out did not help with this matter.)
> 
> Anywho, if you're wondering whether or not the Ashen Wolves will make an appearance in this, the answer is, unfortunately, no. I've already planned out the entire first half of the game (as well as a bit of the second half) and I really can't see how to work them into the story at this point so they're going to have to stay in Abyss for this one.


	22. A Broken Dam

You weren’t sure why, but you had the strangest feeling that you were being watched.

At first you’d assumed that someone else had come from Sreng against your father’s orders. But then you’d felt it. It wasn’t the same feeling as you felt back in Sreng when someone followed you, it was… Darker. More dangerous.

You’d tried all sorts of tricks to catch whoever was following you, but they never fell for any of it. So they were smart, too.

But not smart enough if they’d decided to target you.

Unfortunately for whatever plan you wanted to lay out to catch whoever was shadowing you, you rounded a corner and immediately collided with someone.

You managed to steady yourself easily enough, but a wave of dizziness washed over you as two feminine hands landed on your shoulders to assist.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” The owner of the hands said. “You must be (y/n), Edel’s told me so much about you!”

You looked up, meeting two red eyes with your own and feeling another rush of dizziness.

Monica.

The girl you’d rescued alongside Flayn, who Hilda was _sure_ wasn’t acting quite right… The girl who never failed to make you uneasy whenever she was in the room.

She smirked.

“You’ll make quite the test subject,” Monica giggled. “You really should have taken them up on their offer, but now I’ll be seeing you in the abandoned chapel. You really shouldn’t keep your friends waiting!”

Your mind fogged over.

Yes, that’s right. You were going to the chapel to meet your friends. But you couldn’t let anyone see you.

You made your way there easily enough, not really seeing or hearing anything. The only thought in your mind being a constant reminder that you needed to get to the chapel. There was something important there.

You very nearly got there, in fact, until you saw a knight walking into the chapel alone.

You decided to hide, taking up a place behind a broken piece of wall on the far side of the courtyard until the knight left again. You hoped your friends were hiding from him too.

A terrifying roar erupted from the chapel, snapping you back into reality.

You blinked away the fog, watching in horror as beasts erupted from the building itself and spread out around the courtyard. Several other students in the area were coming back to their senses, most of them running for their lives while others cowered in fear.

You opted to be part of the ‘running for your life’ party and aimed for going back the way you'd come until you spotted a beast scrabbling about right where you wanted to go. You skidded to a halt, barely daring to breathe as you observed the beast.

It reared its head around, looking at its surroundings with something you could only describe as confusion. You took a careful step back, then another, until something crashed behind you. You looked over your shoulder, spotting another rampaging beast chasing after a student.

You turned your head, blood turning to ice as the beast that was between you and freedom reared its head and looked at you. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the rest of your class arriving alongside Jeralt. But they wouldn't make it in time if you didn't do something.

You were just going to have to distract the beast until help arrived. Which wouldn’t be so difficult with-

Your sword…

It was _gone_.

But how could it be gone? You never forgot to bring it with you, and it never left your sight once it was strapped to your side. Unless… Had Monica taken it after doing… Whatever it was she did to you. A spell perhaps? Hypnotism?

Whatever it was, you shuddered at the realisation that you, too, would have been turned into a beast had the knight not spooked whoever was behind all this.

A clawed limb crashing into the ground next to you, spraying gravel and dirt everywhere, made you decide that now was not the time to ponder such things. You bolted, panic rising in you as you realised that your dagger was gone too, but not by any fault of Monica’s. No, you’d left it with your dress from the ball and kept forgetting to put it back where it truly belonged.

Truth was, you’d made the stupid mistake of feeling _safe_ here. Of thinking that you didn’t have to be constantly looking over your shoulder for danger.

Some things never change, no matter where you go.

You leapt to the side, rolling across the ground as you narrowly dodged another swipe. The beast was faster than you expected, and smarter too. A glance over your shoulder showed that it was slowly cornering you, and its bulky frame had already been placed in exactly the right spot to effectively cut you off from help.

You swallowed back your rising panic as you dodged another swipe, this time stumbling and hitting the ground. Hard.

You winced, not daring to look at the scrapes and cuts that the fall had given you, instead choosing to look at your steadily approaching doom. You supposed that this was what it had been like for your half-brother that night when he’d tried to poison you and the tables had quickly been turned.

Your breath hitched in your throat as another swipe narrowly missed its mark. You scrambled backwards, trying to put as much space as possible between you and the beast until-

It reared up, a terrifying roar erupting from its mouth.

“(y/n)!”

A sword skidded across the floor, stopping just a short distance away from your hand. You grabbed it, pushing yourself onto your feet and charging for the beast as its head came back down to the ground.

You swung, the impact jarring your arms as it collided with the crest stone in its forehead. There was a long, silent moment as time slowed to a standstill. You held your breath, only releasing it when the stone shattered and the beast’s form dissipated to reveal… A student?

A horse halted next to it, huffing as its rider jumped off and knelt next to the unconscious boy lying in front of you.

Your hands shook, and your legs threatened to give way as you watched the rider check the student’s pulse. Had you just… Killed him? You threw your sword to the ground, wanting to get as far away as possible.

The redhead turned to look at you, relief clear on his features as he stood once more.

“He’s alive, we just need to get him to Professor Manuela and he’ll wake up in no time. Same as the others.”

_Sylvain._

You nodded, not trusting yourself not to cry as relief washed over you, only to be replaced with a gut-wrenching terror. You didn’t even understand _why_.

This feeling, this fear... It was so completely foreign to you that it made you even more afraid. 

Your future husband took a careful step toward you, a frown making its way onto his face as he observed you. And then he was right in front of you, his hands cupping your face and his fingers pushing hair away so he could get a better look at you.

“Hey, it’s fine. You’re OK, you’re not going to die.” He murmured, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb before he pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. “Goddess, we were all so worried about you. I’m… I’m glad that you’re OK. That I got here in time.”

A sob escaped from your lips as the dam finally broke. All the tears you’d been holding back the past year… It all poured out as Sylvain just held onto you, murmuring words of comfort as he gently rubbed your back.

The sounds of fighting eventually quietened around you, making you painfully aware of the battle that neither you nor the man in front of you were contributing to.

Finally you pulled away, wiping the final tears away with the grubby sleeve of your uniform.

“Thank you.” You whispered, ducking your head with embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it,” He replied, taking your hands in his own. “I promised I’d be there, didn’t I?”

You gave him a shaky nod, remembering the promise that you hadn’t really believed he would keep.

He was supposed to break all of his promises, wasn’t he?

That’s what everyone told you.

They told you that he was _trouble_, not worth the time or the heartbreak that came with it.

That he liked you _now_, but later…? He’d throw you away the moment someone else came along.

But you knew now that he was better than that. Far, far better.

After all, despite the danger he’d effectively taken on the beast _alone_. Saved you from-

Your eyes widened, and you let go of Sylvain’s hands as you stumbled past him.

“(y/n)?” He called, chasing after you. “What’s wrong?”

“Monica.” You called back, still running towards where she was wandering closer to Jeralt.

“Monica?” He asked, easily catching up. “She’s fine, we saved her along with the rest of the-”

You skidded to a halt, realising that you were far too late.

And you were forced to watch as Monica came up behind the former captain.

_And plunged her dagger right into his back._


	23. Royal Concerns

“Is she… Alright?”

You rolled onto your back, listening to the conversation taking place just outside your door.

“Yeah, Professor Manuela said it was just a few cuts and scrapes.” Sylvain replied, his feet not moving from their position just outside your door. “I think she’s more shaken than anything else, after all, she came pretty close to being one of those things.”

“No, I meant…” Dimitri sighed. “I meant what happened to Captain Jeralt…”

“Right…”

“She barely touched her food tonight, aren’t you worried about her?”

“Of course I am,” Sylvain moved slightly away from the door, as if he somehow knew you would be listening. “I think… I think she blames herself.”

“There was nothing she could have done,” Dimitri’s voice moved closer to the door, and you tensed. “Perhaps I should-”

“With all due respect, your highness, I don’t think that’ll help.”

***

Dimitri’s shoulders slumped, and Sylvain almost grimaced at the sight of his friend looking so defeated.

“So she still doesn’t trust me?” The prince asked, glancing at the door again before indicating to Sylvain that they should keep moving.

“‘Fraid so.” The redhead shoved his hands into his pockets, sparing one last glance at the door he was standing in front of.

He couldn’t decide if he wanted it to open or not, if he wanted to see her look so… Lost.

Maybe he was hoping the door would open and everything would go back to the way it was. Before Jeralt died, before that monster cornered her, before… Before Remire Village.

“I suppose I couldn’t expect to fix everything just like that…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, your highness.” Sylvain replied, following the prince up the stairs. “She’s… Not very quick to trust.”

“And yet she trusts you.” Dimitri said, not turning his head to look back as he spoke. “From my understanding you two only met a month before the school year started, but she seems willing to trust you with her life.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it took a lot of work to get that far,” Sylvain murmured, lowering his voice as they began to move past other peoples’ rooms. “Do you remember that month where she flat out refused to talk to me?”

“If I recall, you refused to speak with her too.”

“True, but that’s not my point.”

“And what, exactly, is your point, Sylvain?”

“My point is that I broke her trust and it took a long time to build it back up. She’ll come around.”

“I must say, when you arrived at the academy all those months ago towing that poor girl behind you, I never expected your friendship to last so long.” Dimitri paused just outside his room. “Ever since she came into our lives you’ve… Changed. You’re not half as much of a skirt-chaser as you used to be, and I’m frankly quite proud of you.”

Sylvain cracked an involuntary smile, trying to think of something to say in response as his mind whirled. Had it really been that obvious?

Was he… No. It couldn’t be that simple.

He wasn’t _in love_ or anything. Sylvain didn’t do that. He didn’t… Make himself vulnerable like that.

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

No, he was just _forgetting_ to do what people expected of him.

Because he was _protecting her_.

Yes, that’s right. He was making sure she made it to their arranged marriage. He couldn’t be falling in love with her, because the marriage _wasn’t his choice_. It wasn’t her choice either. He didn’t _get_ to fall in love.

And he wasn’t doing it anyway.

“Which brings me to a question I’ve been meaning to ask for a while,” Dimitri turned to his friend, a look of grim determination on his face. “Who is she?”

“Your highness,” Sylvain grinned with amusement. “You’ve been in the same class for how long now? I think it’s a bit weird that you still haven’t learnt her name.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” The prince crossed his arms, exasperation clear on his face. “She’s not just a noblewoman from one of the smaller territories.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but she really is.” The redhead plastered a grin onto his face, shaking his head as he lied through his teeth to one of his closest friends. “OK, so _maybe_ we lied about the noble part, but she really is just a girl from the north of Faerghus. My father was impressed with her skills and thought she would be perfect for helping to defend our territory from Sreng, with a little extra training of course.”

“And her refusal to speak to anyone, save for you?”

“She… Well, let’s just say she led a very interesting childhood.” He chuckled, remembering her first few days in Fodlan. “She couldn’t read or write before she was brought to my home. Barely spoke too, it took me almost that entire month to get her to open up to me, and I guess she still doesn’t feel comfortable enough at the academy to really talk to anyone else.”

Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at Sylvain with a hint of doubt.

The Gautier heir really did want to tell the whole story. He sometimes felt that he _should_ tell the whole story to Dimitri at the very least. Keeping a secret from the crown prince when it directly affected his kingdom… It was almost as hard as keeping a secret from a friend.

Well, the time for secrets was almost over.

As soon as the knot was tied that would be it, so he would just have to hold out until then.

And besides… Sylvain wasn’t really sure he trusted the church. Even if no one was around right now, there was no guarantee that someone wasn’t listening in on their conversation from an unseen location.

He was supposed to trust the church, being from Faerghus and all, but after seeing Jeralt, who had served them so faithfully for so long, look at all the members of the church, the archbishop even, with such distrust…

It didn’t sit well with him. What had Jeralt known that would make him go from faithful service and devotion to… _That_?

"I see." Dimitri frowned, looking thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "If that is the case then perhaps she never liked me from the start. She may have thought I didn't care or-"

"Easy, your highness. There's no point following that train of thought." Sylvain patted his friend's shoulder. "It'll only lead to another sleepless night and I think you've had enough of those as is."

"Sorry," Dimitri let out a quiet laugh. "I suppose I just don't like the idea of one of my future subjects not trusting me."

"Someday you're just going to have to get used to the idea that not everyone will like you. It's impossible." Sylvain spared his friend one last smile as he opened the door to his room a crack. "No matter how many people sing your praises and no matter how many history books say you were beloved by all… There will always be someone who thinks you didn't do well enough, who doesn't like you or perhaps doesn't trust you… the sooner you accept that… the sooner you'll be able to be a ruler your father would be proud of."

The prince flinched slightly at those words, a sad smile following close behind.

“Thank you for the advice, Sylvain.” Dimitri nodded, opening the door to his own room. “Most of us will no doubt be keeping an eye out for the professor over the next few days… I trust you’ll watch over (y/n) in our place?”

“If she’ll let me.”

And with that, Sylvain stepped into his room, shutting the door behind him with a sigh as he thought about the events of the day. No one had really touched their food that night, not really.

Most ate because they knew that they needed to, while others ate because they didn’t want to worry their friends. But Dimitri had been right; no one from their class had done quite as badly as (y/n), who seemed only to move her food around her plate to create the illusion that she’d eaten something.

It was heart-breaking.

And Sylvain desperately wanted to fix things.

Trouble was, he didn’t know where to start.

***

You had the strangest feeling of déjà vu the moment you opened the door only to find Sylvain standing in front of it, his hand hovering as if he had been just about to knock.

You’d heard him pacing outside as you got dressed for the day.

Heard him come up to the door and almost knock, then think better of it.

“Are you… Well?” You asked, keeping your voice down despite the knowledge that everyone in the rooms nearby had already left for the morning.

Classes were technically cancelled for the Blue Lions today but… The schedule kept your classmates sane.

“I was actually about to ask you the same thing.” Sylvain chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t eat anything yesterday, guess I was worried.”

“I… Apologise.” You replied, biting your lip as your gaze travelled to the ground. “I was not hungry.”

The redhead went silent for a moment, the unspoken ‘neither was I’ hovering between the two of you. You kept your eyes on the ground, noting that his shoes were still scuffed and dusty from the morning before. He hadn’t bothered to polish them.

Neither had you, and you suspected that the rest of the class, maybe even the school, would have followed suit.

“Are you… Hungry now?”

You looked up, startled by the break in the silence.

His eyes shone with concern, and you inwardly winced at the slight frown on his face. You stared for a long while, mesmerised by the idea that he was so concerned for your wellbeing.

Hadn’t you turned his life upside-down the moment you arrived? Forced him to focus more on keeping you safe rather than do what he wanted to do this school year?

“No.” You finally responded, fiddling with the cuff of your uniform sleeve. “But I know I must keep going.”

“You don't have to-"

"I… Do not want to… To worry anyone." You whispered, looking away once more.

"We're your friends, (y/n)," Sylvain's words made you look back up at him. "In some way or another, we're always going to worry about you."

"I see." You stepped out of your room and shut your door. "I am… not used to having friends."

"I guess you couldn't trust anyone in the palace, huh?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, taking up a slow pace as he led you to the dining area.

"Or outside." You replied, crossing your arms over your stomach. "Everyone I met was… An enemy."

"Everyone?" Sylvain echoed. "I knew your siblings were cutthroat but… I never realised just how dangerous it was for you over there… Makes me feel kind of silly for thinking that all this stuff that keeps happening here is anything more than a regular day for you."

"I do not talk about it much." You sighed, dropping your hands to your sides again. "But now is not the time for… For…"

"Regaling me with tales of woe?” He suggested, nudging you with an elbow as the doors to the dining hall got ever closer. “Maybe now is the perfect time for it, I don’t think it’s possible for you to bring the mood down any further.”

You looked up at him, and something in your gaze made the smile on his face drop.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to-”

You shrugged, walking the last few steps to the dining hall and pushing the doors open.

The mood inside was dark, and your stomach twisted itself into knots as your classmates looked up at you with surprise in their eyes. You almost considered turning around and going back the way you’d come, but a slight touch on your arm from Sylvain helped you steel yourself.

You kept your shoulders straight and your expression neutral as you went through the motions before finally taking a seat next to Ashe, Sylvain taking the spot on your other side. As you took your customary look around the table you noticed creased uniforms, missed buttons and stray locks of hair.

It would all pass soon enough, no one in the room, save for Leonie, really knew Jeralt well enough to grieve for him but… The shock of the loss put a dark cloud over the students. Even the ever-cheerful Raphael had barely said a word. Normally you could hear his every word, even from the other side of the room, but today the only noise in the hall was the occasional clink of cutlery on plates.

You pursed your lips thoughtfully, looking down at your food and wondering how much longer you could go without. Another day, maybe two? But the longer you went without eating, the weaker you’d get. You’d lose focus, maybe even collapse.

And with the knights already searching for Monica and the strange humanoid creature that had saved her… You knew they’d come back when they found what they were looking for, knew they would ask Rhea for guidance.

When that moment finally came you wanted to be ready to move out, your whole class probably wanted to do the same. None of them could do what needed to be done with the level of efficiency that you could, though. 

You looked around the table one last time, then back down to your food, picking up your spoon to eat.

Monica wouldn’t get the best of you a second time.


	24. A Light in the Darkness

Unlike Byleth, you stepped out of the strange stone ruins.

The dark shrouds emerged a moment later, giving you the strange impression that if you hadn’t stepped back as quick as you did, you’d be caught up in it all. It grabbed at your professor, holding her down as a strange field surrounded the area, preventing you from entering it.

But your eyes were focused on Monica - Kronya, now- who was lying dead on the ground. She’d reached out to you, a plea for help dying on her lips as Solon ripped her very heart out.

It hadn’t been nearly as messy as you expected it to be, but then again, they weren’t nearly as human as you expected them to be. Kronya had more resembled a scorpion, and Solon was just… Wrong. Looking at him gave you a headache, and you suspected that he felt nearly the same sort of sensation when looking at you and your classmates.

A hand touched your shoulder, and you spared a glance back at Dimitri, who had finally caught up with you.

“Are you alright?” He asked quickly, his gaze flitting to the spot where the professor had been only moments before. “What happened to the professor?”

You blinked, feeling the sting of a cut on your cheek as your mind caught up with the events of the day. Your shoulder ached, and your usually free hand was holding onto a dagger that had turned from the shining silver of polished metal to a deep, metallic red.

The dagger was not, in fact, yours.

Nor was the axe in your hand.

The empty scabbard where your sword should have been told a story of its own, as did the rip in your uniform jacket.

Whoever these people were, they were dangerous. You’d fought hard, resorting to techniques that you hoped no one in your class had seen or recognised just to survive. You didn’t remember reciting a single prayer for any of them.

Probably because it seemed like not one of them had a soul in the first place.

Your class confronted Solon, you stood a short way behind them, already aware that they wouldn’t find anything but contempt and darkness behind the strange creature’s single eye. Somehow you knew that your professor would come back, so you went about collecting yourself and your thoughts.

Yes, your sword had long since disappeared, and would likely not be recovered. The professor would understand, of course, even if Seteth gave you a disapproving scowl upon hearing of _another_ lost sword.

You wiped the dagger onto your torn uniform jacket, already prepared to throw the thing away before Mercedes could even think of trying to repair it. Some things just couldn’t be fixed. You tucked your new dagger into an empty sheath at your waist, apparently having lost that dagger somewhere in the fight, too.

Before you could consider your axe, however; a bright light shone above you, and the Sword of the Creator cut through the very sky itself. Byleth stepped through, her hair and eyes now a mint green as she landed in front of you and your classmates.

_The woman of green…_

At first you’d thought maybe the seer had meant Lady Rhea, but now… Perhaps they’d meant Byleth all along. You could trust her… But only at the end.

The end of what?

A flash of light nearby told you that Solon had disappeared, taking a higher vantage point to watch as more of his followers emerged from the trees, surrounding you and your class once more.

You lifted your axe, stepping into formation as you waited for the professor’s signal.

“Go.”

You stuck with Mercedes, Annette and Ashe, striking any oncoming enemies hard and fast until your axe got itself lodged in a tree. You sighed irritably, dodging underneath a swipe from your latest opponent.

An arrow planted itself in the man’s back before you could even unsheath a dagger. You looked up, nodding gratefully at Ashe as he lowered his bow. Then you looked back down, studying the blade that had clattered to the ground at your feet with great interest.

Silver. Looked sharp, too.

A twig snapped behind you, and you rolled, grabbing the hilt of the sword as you went and raising it just in time to block a jab from a lance. You grimaced as the impact jarred your sword-arm and the pain in your shoulder flared up.

You shoved the lance back, jumping to your feet and slashing at your attacker, narrowly missing a block from the lance and slashing a cut into their arm. A grunt of pain was your only notice that you’d met your mark, but it was all you needed.

They were certainly stronger, but you were quicker. You danced backward on light feet, side-stepping another swing of the lance and closing in as they tried to draw it back for another. Your sword pierced through a gap in his armour, and you took a sort of satisfaction in the little gasp of shock that the soldier let out.

You pulled your sword free, nodding to Mercedes and Annette as they moved past you to meet up with the others. Mercedes grimaced at the body slumped next to you, but was only distracted momentarily before she hurried onwards, with you not far behind.

Ashe matched his pace to meet yours, his hands shaking slightly even as he held an arrow to the string, ready to shoot anyone who came out of the trees wearing the same armour as the mysterious warriors you’d been fighting. You touched a hand gently to his shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile.

It was times like these that you found yourself wishing you could somehow find a way to save him from further conflict.

The way things were going, you had a bad feeling that this school year was not going to end well.

***

You closed your eyes against the light as Manuela healed the cut on your face.

Despite your many attempts to dodge her, the songstress had once more managed to track you down and treat your barely noticeable injuries.

“Now, I know I don’t have to tell you this, but keep that shoulder away from the training grounds for the next few days, OK?” She said, tapping your right arm for emphasis before she stood and turned to look at the medical supplies on the shelf. “No strenuous training. And no fancy acrobatics.”

You nodded, an annoyed huff escaping your lips.

“I heard that.” Manuela grumbled, shooting you a firm glare. “I don’t want to confine you to the infirmary but I will if you intend to ignore my instructions.”

You hopped off of the bed you’d been sitting on, gathering up your ruined jacket as you made your way to the door.

“Oh and (y/n)?” She turned back to you, tossing you a small jar that you caught in your free hand. “Sylvain thinks he hid it from me, but I _did_ notice the bruised rib. Give him this, it will help with the pain, and it’s cold as ice so it should help the swelling. And don’t let him lie down too much, either.”

You nodded, bowing quickly before you slipped out of the infirmary.

It didn’t take long to find Sylvain, who quickly slipped a small box of some kind into his jacket pocket at the sight of you.

“Hey,” He greeted, a tired smile on his face. “You’re looking a bit better than you did before the fight today.”

You shrugged with one shoulder, fiddling with the jar in your hand underneath the folds of your jacket.

“She said you… Had a bruised rib?” You asked, narrowing your eyes as you examined him.

He winced, a hand unconsciously going to his side at your words. He looked at you with a sheepish grin, which faded into an apologetic smile as soon as he caught the look on your face.

“Guess she noticed that, huh?” He replied, fidgeting under your unwavering gaze. “It doesn’t hurt that much, really.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh come on, don’t look at me like that.” Sylvain grimaced, finally looking away from you when he realised that this was a fight he couldn’t win. “Fine, I suppose she sent you to drag me back to the infirmary, then?”

“No.” You replied, smiling sweetly as you produced the jar from under your jacket and held it out. “She gave me this. It should… Help with the pain.”

“You really are mean sometimes, you know?” He sighed, taking the jar from you and examining it closely. “But it’s not that bad.”

You grabbed his hand as he turned away, unable to stop the worry in your gaze as you looked up at him. He looked down at your hand on his, then at your face.

“Please.”

The word hung between the two of you, and he just stared at you for a while before he smiled softly and nodded.

“Alright, you’ve persuaded me.” He chuckled, sliding the jar into a pocket in his jacket before he frowned. “On an unrelated note, when’s your birthday?”

You tilted your head.

“Birth… Day?”

“Yeah, you know.” He fumbled with something in his jacket pocket. “The day you were born.”

You frowned.

Yes, you had seen your class celebrating… Something, the past year. They were always going on about it, some of them exchanging presents for the occasion, but you didn’t see the point of it.

Some people in Sreng celebrated such things, allowing themselves to enjoy a moment of respite as they revelled in the fact that they’d survived another year. But to the royal family, such things had only been seen as opportunities for assassins to cut the celebrations short.

As such, you had no idea when you were born, only a general knowledge of the season you were born in and the number of years you’d been alive. But how could you convey that to him?

“I… Do not know.” You said, shrugging one shoulder indifferently.

“You don’t know?” Sylvain asked, eyes widening with shock. “Well, that… Complicates things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah, I assumed because you hadn’t said anything yet that your birthday was at the end of the year but… If you don’t know…” He pulled the box from earlier out of his pocket. “I got you this, but I can’t exactly give it to you for your birthday if we don’t know when that is.”

You took the object from him with a confused frown. It was a small, wooden box with a fox carved into the lid.

“Go on, open it.” Sylvain grinned, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “It’s almost been a year since you arrived in Fodlan, I guess we can call it a commemorative gift for that instead.”

You shot him a dubious look before lifting the lid of the box, and gently pulling out a shiny red ribbon.

“It uh… Well, I noticed how fond you were of the one I gave you back before we started here, and… It’s gotten pretty tattered lately so I thought-” He grimaced, reaching a hand out for the ribbon. “On second thought, it was a pretty dumb idea. Don’t worry about it-”

“No.” You stepped back, holding the ribbon away from him. “I like it.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” You nodded, smiling brightly at him as you tucked the ribbon back into the box. “Thank you.”

Sylvain grinned, relief etched into his features and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from that smile.

It was in that exact moment that you decided that maybe, just maybe, being married to him wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, another chapter down, just a lot more to go!
> 
> Hit a bit of a writing slump with this one, I know where I want to go, and I have an idea for a future chapter, but actually getting there is... Well, my brain doesn't want to tell me that information. I'll keep chugging away at it though, but updates might get few and far between while I work it all out.
> 
> I am also working on another project on the side that might pop up eventually if I manage to make good progress on it. I'm really excited to share the new project when it's ready, and I am also looking forward to continuing and finishing this one too!


	25. The Crumbling Walls

"Is that… Edelgard?" Sylvain murmured, lowering his Lance as he stared at the unmasked Flame Emperor.

The next few moments happened in slow motion, Rhea shouting at Edelgard, telling her she would pay for her sins; Edelgard pleading with Byleth to assist her while Rhea told her to finish it; and finally, Dimitri.

_ He started laughing._

And you watched on in horror, unable to tear your gaze away as he killed so many imperial soldiers with almost no effort at all.

Sylvain lurched forward, almost in a daze, wanting to help his friend so badly. But you stopped him with a hand on his arm, and as he looked back at you helplessly you took his hand in your own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

And you watched.

As the crown prince showed his true face.

As he killed with the same indifference that you had once felt, all those years ago in the palace in Sreng.

As Dimitri yelled at Edelgard, asking her why. _Why, why, why._

As Edelgard calmly told him she had nothing to do with it. 

As Hubert whisked her away to safety and an unknown location with merely a wave of his hand.

But before she could disappear, Edelgard looked. Not at Dimitri, not at Hubert and not at Byleth either.

She looked at _you_.

Ingrid broke the silence first.

She pushed past you and Sylvain, although through would be a better description. You were forced to let go of his hand so that she could make it safely through, and it seemed to break whatever spell he’d found himself under.

“Your highness,” Ingrid breathed, taking careful steps toward the prince. “Are you… OK?”

He had his back to you, and his lance had long since clattered to the ground. His shoulders shook with what could have been tears if not for the quiet, hollow laughter that now echoed throughout the room.

Sylvain almost moved forward too, pretending not to notice the carnage, even as his eyes shone with disbelief. His mouth was set into a firm frown, but the rest of his movements betrayed the horror he was feeling in that moment.

“Oh, yes.” Dimitri turned, still laughing a bit as he looked at Ingrid and the rest of your classmates. “I’m quite alright. In fact, I feel better than I have in a long time!”

You took a few steps back, until you were side-by-side with Felix.

He glanced at you, for once not looking offended by your entire existence. It seemed that he, too, was under no impression that the bloody, wild-eyed prince was anything other than his true self. That the kind and sincere boy the class was so fond of was nothing more than a mask, shattered like glass at their feet.

“And so the boar prince shows his true face.” Felix sneered, crossing his arms. “I must admit, you’re smarter than I expected. I’ve been warning those fools for years now that he’s a monster, but you… You’re the only other person who sees him for what he is.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding hesitantly as the class made their way back to where you were standing, and thus the door behind you. You looked up at Rhea and Seteth, who were watching the scene with great concern in their eyes.

“This doesn’t change my opinion of you.” Felix continued, making you turn your gaze back to him. “You’ve only made yourself more dangerous than I first thought, and Sylvain is a fool if he thinks that you aren’t capable of _this_, too.”

He turned on one heel and left, leaving you to stand alone in the wake of all the chaos that had unfolded here.

Byleth stood next to you a minute later, her face stoic as ever despite the worry shining in her eyes. 

You still weren’t used to the green hair and eyes she now sported. Sometimes it seemed that she wasn’t either. You’d caught her once or twice pausing as she passed a mirror, and lifting a cautious hand to her hair as if she wondered who that woman was.

You didn’t really understand the feeling, nor did you understand what, exactly, had happened to her.

But what you did understand was that all the walls were crumbling down, now.

All the secrets were coming out.

And as much as you wondered who else was hiding something in this strange place…

You also wondered how much longer it was until your secret was out.

***

When you first decided to step out of the dining hall for some air that night, you’d expected a short break looking up at the night sky.

A few minutes to yourself, away from Dimitri, who smiled despite the storm cloud that so clearly hovered over his head. Away from Felix, who neither trusted you nor felt inclined to tell everyone who you were.

And away from Sylvain, who was so torn between caring for his friend and accepting the reality of the situation.

But as you stepped out into the night, you were _not_ expecting to see two silhouettes standing at the pier.

You approached cautiously enough, but could not hide your surprise as Edelgard turned towards you, Hubert still staring vacantly at the water. She smiled knowingly at you, as if she had expected you to come.

“A lot of students ran from Garreg Mach today,” She started, unbothered by the dagger in your hand. “I was disappointed to find that you weren’t among them. Hubert may not be the most agreeable person, but I was sure that our promise that your strength would be celebrated instead of feared would have swayed you to our side.”

Her hair glowed slightly, and her eyes shone with determination as she took another step toward you.

“I do not know who you truly are, but I know for a fact that Sylvain does not care for you. How he convinced you otherwise is beyond me.” She gently placed her fingers on the blade, lowering your dagger for you. “I've seen how he works, and it's quite impressive how good he is at breaking hearts. He draws you in with sweet nothings and promises to do better. Then he tells you you're special, gives you something meaningful to prove it."

Her smile curved upward, sympathy in her gaze as your hand drifted up to the ribbon in your hair.

"And then he finds another, courting her right before your eyes." Edelgard stepped closer again, placing her hand on your shoulder. "And when you protest? That's when he strikes. When he takes your very heart and tears it in two."

You very nearly smiled and gave yourself away as she took hold of your free hand in both of her own, a sympathetic gesture as kind as it was manipulative.

She thought you a frightened lamb, following after whoever gave you even a moment of attention. She was making Sylvain out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing; preying upon your weakness for a sick little game of his.

You gripped your dagger harder, knowing that you were far more dangerous to her than she or Hubert seemed to realise. You weren't a frightened little lamb, you were a Sreng warrior; cold and calculating. A snake coiled and ready to strike.

"You've seen how Dimitri is now. He's unstable, and your friends in there refuse to see it but _I_ do." Edelgard's grip on your hand loosened slightly. "He will fall, (y/n), and he will lead all of them to their deaths, too. You do not have to follow him or Sylvain to an untimely death, nor do you have to worry that he might snap one day and kill you himself. Come with me, and put your skills to good use."

Her grip loosened again, and this time you allowed yourself to smile

You tore your hand free, stepping around behind her and wrapping your arm around her neck in one fluid motion. Hubert had barely turned around when you put the point of your dagger at her throat.

"Relax, Hubert." Edelgard breathed, not even bothering to struggle. "She won't harm me."

You rolled your eyes, huffing with annoyance.

"She does not seem to agree, Lady Edelgard." Hubert drew a knife of his own, even as dark magic crackled from the fingertips of his other hand.

"What reason do you have to cling to the blue lions? To Sylvain?" Edelgard murmured, her tone edged with fury. "Time and again he's hurt you and yet you still refuse to see the truth. What reason could you possibly have for such loyalty? What has he got over you?"

The situation was tense. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air as the three of you reached a stalemate.

You weren't sure why you were hesitating, you had her right where you wanted her. She'd made a grave error and you could end the war right now, before it even started. All you had to do was-

"(y/n)?" Sylvain's voice distracted you for just a moment.

But it was all the Adrestian emperor needed. Her elbow collided with your stomach and you released your grip, your dagger dropping out of your hand and skittering across the stones.

You fell onto your back, the wind knocked out of you for a second time as Edelgard strode back to Hubert. Footsteps sounded nearby, someone was running down the stairs towards you.

"It's a shame that your talents will be so thoroughly wasted." Edelgard sighed, brushing nonexistent dust off of her shoulder. "If you stay and fight you will die, (y/n). All of you will burn."

And then she was gone.

You sat up, wheezing as you struggled to come to terms with what had happened. Hands touched your shoulders and you flinched away, very nearly punching Sylvain.

"Whoa, sorry. I forgot you have crazy reflexes." He said, raising his hands in surrender as you looked at him. "You alright?"

You nodded, taking in a shuddering breath.

"Was that Edelgard?" He asked, sitting down beside you.

"Yes." You replied, sparing a glance at the dining hall doors, where Byleth was slowly making her way towards you. 

"What did she want?"

"Me." You whispered, hugging your knees to your chest.

"You?" Sylvain frowned, looking you over for injuries once more. "What do you mean? Why would she-"

"(y/n)." Byleth interrupted, standing over the two of you with a concerned frown. "I don't think I need to tell you this but… Don't tell Dimitri about this encounter."

"Don't you think he deserves to know, professor?" Sylvain asked, a frown following his word.

"You're one of his oldest friends and you're telling me you think this is a good idea?" Byleth replied, crossing her arms. "He won't take the news well. Do you truly believe he'll trust (y/n) after this? We can't have everyone pointing fingers and jumping at shadows right now, not while an army is headed right for our doorstep."

"But-" Sylvain cut himself off when you put a hand on top of his, gently shaking your head. "You're right. Of course you're right. I just… Don't like lying to him."

“Neither do I,” Byleth sighed, crossing her arms with a slight frown. “But it’s better that we don’t tell him and he stays sane than we tell him and he loses another piece of himself.”

You looked away, knowing that he’d already lost himself entirely.

But there was no point telling them that. Telling them that their friend was long gone. Or even telling them that there was a chance their friend had never existed at all, and had been pretending to be what they wanted, no, _needed_, him to be.

“You coming back in?” Sylvain asked, snapping you from your thoughts.

You grimaced, shaking your head at the idea of sitting across from Dimitri for a moment longer. Instead standing and jerking your head in the direction of the dorms. The redhead nodded, brushing himself off as he stood as well.

And Byleth? She kept pace with you for a time.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but eventually she turned her head to look at you.

“You didn’t kill Edelgard.” You looked up at the sound of her voice. “You could have. I saw the position you had her in, even Hubert was hesitant to step in.”

You shrugged a shoulder, unable to explain your hesitation.

Had some part of you decided that the only person who could kill her was Dimitri? Or had you remembered the hesitant way your professor had raised her sword at the emperor? How a battle had raged in her eyes as she stood against a student?

“Thank you for not killing her.” Her voice was so quiet you almost missed it. “Dimitri wants to kill Edelgard but… I don’t want to fight her if we don’t have to.”

You looked away again, wondering where Byleth got such high hopes from.

She was so sure that they could bring the old Dimitri back. So sure that she could make Edelgard see reason…

But you had the strongest feeling that this, like many things, would end only with bloodshed.

_All of you will burn._


	26. The End of the School Year

“Well, I guess that’s that.”

Claude slung his bow over his shoulder, watching as the monastery burned.

The battle for Garreg Mach had been hard-pressed, and mostly on the defensive as the non-combatants fled. And it all went downhill when Byleth…

You hadn’t seen it happen, you’d been fighting with Sylvain on the other side of the battlefield. But rumours spread fast, and morale fell even faster.

Byleth was gone.

Not the first casualty of the war, but a big one nonetheless.

And still you felt nothing.

You’d practically grown up with a war. Your whole life had been spent surrounded by people who might not be there the next day. As fond as you had been of Byleth, there was no use grieving for just another loss on the field of a battle you simply could not win.

In one way or another, this was the least homesick you’d been since arriving in Fodlan.

“So much for graduation, huh?” Claude sighed, turning back to you and Sylvain. “But hey, at least we made it out alive.”

“Thanks for the save back there, Claude.” The redhead nodded, patting his horse’s neck. “I really thought we were done for back there.”

“Hey, don’t mention it.” Claude waved off the thank you with a shrug. “If we want to survive this war, we’ve got to stick together.”

There was a long silence.

Imperial squads started picking their way across the battlefield, searching for survivors among the dead.

“We’d better move if we want to actually make it out alive.” Sylvain sighed, swinging up into his saddle. “What are you going to do from here?”

“Me? I’m going back to the Alliance. See if I can’t convince my grandfather to convince the other nobles not to side with the emperor.” Claude shrugged, as calm and collected as ever despite the situation. “I assume you two are off to rendezvous with the margrave before the Kingdom joins the fight?”

“Yeah.” The redhead nodded, turning his horse in the general direction of Faerghus. “We’ve got something we need to do back home, my father will kill me if we don’t get back there soon.”

Claude smiled knowingly.

“Good luck with that. And (y/n)?” You tilted your head, looking at Claude with a confused frown. “From one outsider to another… Nevermind. You two stay safe out there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, giving him a quick smile before you turned and took Sylvain’s outstretched hand, using it to hoist yourself onto the horse.

You spared one last glance for the golden deer’s leader, who was watching the two of you leave with a strange look on his face. How he was going to walk all the way back to Derdriu was beyond you, but you decided not to think on it too much.

Besides, you had a war ahead of you.

But before that… 

***

A knife flashed in the forest, ending the life of one more Imperial Soldier.

The last one that had seen his escape.

He slunk through the shadows of the trees, making his way back to his home on memory alone.

The princess had taken him by surprise, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

He’d get another opportunity to end her, he was sure of it. Once he told his father what he knew... 

_I’ll think of you when I return to the palace with my fiancé’s head in one hand and the Lance of Ruin in the other_

She’d been lying. Her mouth said one thing while her eyes said another.

This place had made her weak.

And he would take great pleasure in exploiting that weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy! We made it through the academy phase people!
> 
> Yes, two whole chapters today! That's mostly because I knew this chapter was going to be a very short one and that it wouldn't fit onto the end of the previous one so I figured I'd do both at once.
> 
> The next couple chapters are going to be interval chapters, they take place between the academy and war phases, and have some important plot in them. Then we'll get stuck into the war phase and some of the ideas I've had since day one are going to start coming to fruition which is VERY exciting for me.


	27. The Person I Want To Be

You sat in the Margrave’s office, watching Sylvain pace up and down the room as the two of you waited for his father to return.

He’d sat you both down, listened to your tale with a grim frown, and then before he could say anything… A messenger burst through the door, repeating almost the same news as you had just given him, but with something that he hadn’t wanted either of you to hear.

“Sylvain.” You said finally, making him pause his pacing momentarily. “_Sylvain_.”

He stopped properly this time, fixing you with an irritated glare.

“He has only been gone a couple minutes.” You soothed, standing from your chair and taking his hands in your own. “Do not worry.”

“Last time he was gone ‘a couple minutes’, Miklan got tossed out of the family.” He grumbled, shaking you off as he began pacing again. “I hate it when he does this.”

“Do you… Dislike your father?” You asked, making him shake his head.

“Don’t get me wrong, I hate his opinion on Crests and I hate what he did to my brother but… I don’t hate him.” Sylvain said, not pausing as he spoke. “Not yet, at any rate.”

“Why are you so tense, then?” You crossed your arms, looking him dead in the eye as he suddenly stopped and snapped his gaze to your own. “You have been… _Distressed_ since we arrived.”

“How are you _not_ distressed?” He asked, throwing his hands into the air. “You got carted off to a foreign nation, promised to a man you’ve never met, and then spent a year pretending to be someone you weren’t so that the people around you wouldn’t imprison or kill you and… And then a war broke out. _A war_, right in front of our faces. We almost died the other day and you’re… Goddess I can’t imagine how messed up your childhood must have been for none of this to faze you.”

“You are forgetting that I am here to end a war that has surrounded my entire life.” You said softly, turning away from him and making your way back to your chair, sitting so that you were facing the opposite wall. “I… I am used to it.”

“(y/n) I… I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” He finally sat, taking his place in the chair beside yours and ever so carefully taking one of your hands in his own. “You’ve been through a lot, I shouldn’t be taking my worries out on you. I guess I’m just… Afraid.”

“Afraid?” You turned your head to look at him with a confused frown. “Of what?”

“I dunno, I’m… Afraid that my father will send you away and the treaty will fall apart. I’m afraid Faerghus is going to end up fighting a war on two fronts and that soon there’ll be nothing left of it.” He squeezed your hand absent-mindedly, his distant gaze fixed on the window behind his father’s chair. “I guess I’m afraid that I somehow failed Dimitri, that it’s _my fault_ he’s been suffering silently all this time. If I had noticed sooner-”

“Stop.” You put your hand on his cheek, turning his face towards yours. “It was not your fault. Dedue… Did not even see it coming.”

“Yeah, no one did.” He laughed breathlessly, looking down at the carpet for a moment before his gaze turned back to yours. “Except for Felix… And you.”

“I… Did not know.” You shook your head. “I just… I… I do not trust anyone. I… Expect bad things.”

“You say you don’t trust anyone, but you trust me, right?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“It is… Strange, for me. Trusting someone is… Not easy.”

“In that case,” His eyes darted to your lips for a fraction of a second. “I’m glad that you trust me sometimes.”

There was a shift in the air; a sort of electricity.

And you wanted to ask Sylvain what it all meant. If he felt it too, the charge in the air between you. If he could hear the thumping of your heart. If he knew _why_.

And then the moment was lost.

The doorknob turned, and the two of you pulled away from each other and sat rigidly in your chairs as the Margrave re-entered the room.

Sylvain’s father sat in his chair with a deep sigh, running his hands over his face before he looked up first at you, then at Sylvain. You bit the inside of your cheek, sucking in a breath as you hoped that he wouldn’t notice anything was off.

“The messenger confirmed what you just told me,” He said finally, lacing his fingers together on the desk. “It seems that war has come to Fodlan.”

“I can’t believe Edelgard really did it.” Sylvain said, shaking his head.

You stayed quiet, not daring to look at the redhead beside you as you attempted to gather your thoughts. Your gaze dropped to your hands in your lap.

“His Highness has made it back to the capital,” The margrave added, the barest hint of a smile reaching his face. “Alongside Ingrid Galatea and Lonato’s adopted son.”

“Ashe.”

Both Gautier men’s gazes snapped to you as you spoke. And you looked up after a moment to find them still staring.

“What?” You asked timidly, your attention flitting between them. “His name was Ashe.”

“You’re a bit more talkative than you were last time you were here.” The margrave commented, raising an eyebrow. “And… I am sorry about your mother.”

You nodded just once, not daring to say anything more on the topic.

“Father,” Sylvain cleared his throat, drawing the attention away from you. “We… Had a couple other classmates that we haven’t heard from yet, do you…?”

“No, I haven’t heard any news from Baron Dominic yet. His territory is farther away from ours than Fhirdiad, so I imagine we’ll hear something soon.”

“Speaking of Fhirdiad, have you…?”

“Informed them of the impending marriage?” The margrave raised an eyebrow. “No. In fact… We may have to postpone it until further notice.”

“Postpone?” Your hands moved to the arms of the chair and you leant forward, a frown on your face. “But… Why?”

“Weddings take time. Something we may not have a lot of if the emperor is marching her army to our borders as we speak.” Sylvain’s father sighed, suddenly looking far older than he had moments before. “I may have to leave for the front lines as well… Loathe as I am to leave you here all alone-”

“You can’t seriously be considering leaving us behind!” Sylvain shouted, standing from his seat.

“I’m not leaving _you_ behind, Sylvain. Just (y/n).”

“You have got to be kidding me! You can’t leave her behind!”

“She’s not going to be left unprotected-”

“It’s not about if she’ll be unprotected, (y/n) can more than take care of herself!”

“We cannot risk bringing her into the front lines and losing her!”

“But you can risk losing me?” Sylvain’s voice grew dangerously quiet. “What, losing one son wasn’t enough for you?”

You flinched involuntarily, the memory of sitting beside your fiancé on that bench shortly after Miklan’s death rushing back to you. How broken he’d been. Had he been holding onto some of that grief all this time?

There was a tense silence, both men just staring at each other.

And then Sylvain turned on one heel, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

You looked down at the ground, then slowly stood.

“I’ll never understand why he cares so much for Miklan.” The margrave sighed, sitting back in his chair as you crossed the room. “He’d be better off if he didn’t waste his energy on such ridiculous things.”

You paused at the door, your hand hovering over the knob.

“He… Has a heart.” You said, opening the door and stepping through.

_Not like you_, you wanted to say.

You wanted to do a lot of things in that moment, aside from leaving the room.

Cutting the man’s throat, for instance. Or perhaps taking your dagger and seeing if there was even a heart beating in his chest.

But that was your instructors talking. Telling you that every problem, feud or minor disagreement could be solved with a dagger and quick reflexes. Telling you that you could harm whoever you wanted and not face the consequences.

And that was not the person you wanted to be.

***

You didn’t see Sylvain for a couple days, he’d locked himself in his room and you’d occupied yourself with practice in the training yard. It wasn’t as if you were worried about concealing your identity at this point; with war looming on the horizon, everyone was busy thinking about other things.

When you finally did find him, he was leaning on a balcony railing and staring out at the snowy landscape stretching out into the distance towards Sreng.

You approached with soft footsteps, more out of habit than a desire to scare him. But somehow he’d known you were there the whole time, and barely reacted when you leant on the railing beside him.

“Sorry about the other day,” He murmured, his gaze not moving from whatever he was watching. “I suppose my father had something to say about that, huh?”

“He does not…” You pursed your lips, taking a moment to think. “_Understand_ you.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain snorted. “He never did.”

“He… Reminds me of my father.” You said, lacing your fingers together.

“How So?”

“He is… Stubborn. And cruel.” You sighed, gazing wistfully at the horizon as you thought of the palace you’d grown up in. “He favours your Crest, just as my father favours my-”

You cut yourself off, frowning as you unlaced your fingers and waited for the inevitable question that would follow your mistake.

“Your what?” Finally, Sylvain looked at you, but you dared not look at him.

“Nothing.” You muttered, pushing off the railing and turning back towards the doorway you’d walked through.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on me this whole time?” His hand caught yours and he spun you around so he could look at you.

“No, I do not have a… A Crest. I am just… Me.” You shook your head, still deciding if you wanted to tug your arm free and walk away now or if you wanted to stay. “It is… Strange.”

“Can’t be much stranger than a literal dragon flying over the battlefield.” He smiled softly, almost reaching a hand out to cup your cheek but deciding against it partway through. “Come on, you obviously need to talk about it and… I want to listen.”

“We… Have these things called Seers.” You started, looking back at the sight over the horizon. “They see your future just by... Touching your hand.”

Your fiancé nodded for you to continue.

“When a child is born, a Seer looks into their future and… Chooses a colour for them.” You sighed, looking back at the redhead. “Red is… A rare colour for children. For girls in particular. It is the colour the Seer chose when I was born.”

“And… How many of your royal siblings have that colour?”

“None.”

Sylvain whistled, frowning thoughtfully for a moment. “I guess that’s why your father made you the favourite, huh?”

“You… Remember?”

“Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You were… Grieving.”

“And you helped me.” He gave you yet another smile. “I’m hardly going to forget that, am I?”

“No.” You assented, daring to look back in the direction of your childhood home.

“But why did your father send you here, anyway?” He asked, making you stiffen momentarily. “Surely he thought you were meant for bigger things than… _This_.”

Could you tell him?

Would he handle the news that you weren’t sent here for peace any better than he’d handled the idea that you wouldn’t be sent to fight in the war?

Would you be able to handle the look in his eyes when he found out?

“He… Did not want any of his daughters to marry a man who was much older than them.” You replied, instead deciding to tell him an almost truth. “The envoy said I looked about your age.”

“I see.” He frowned again, looking at you critically for a moment. “So why is red so important in Sreng anyway?”

“It is… The colour of blood and… Strength.” You sighed, simplifying it more for your benefit than his. Translating your words was tricky enough. “The Seers said I… have a path coated in blood. They say I… I will kill many people.”

You looked at the ground, hugging your arms as close to your body as you could.

“Sylvain I…” Your breath hitched, and you swallowed down the urge to cry. “I do not want to be that person.”

“You don’t have to be.” Sylvain murmured, his hand resting on your cheek making you look up at him again. “What do those Seer guys know anyway?”

“They see the future!” You cried, wondering why you felt so helpless.

“The future’s not set in stone.” He shrugged a shoulder, shooting you a care-free smile. “I mean, look at us. We all promised to be at the monastery in five years but now… Well, I don’t think there’ll be a monastery to meet at in five years.”

“But-”

“(y/n).” He pulled you towards him, hugging you close to his chest as he said his next words. “No one can decide who you’re going to be. No one, except for you.”

***

“...They wouldn’t let me see his body!”

You glanced at Sylvain, wondering what was going on inside of the margrave’s office. The two of you had been summoned almost a week and a half after he’d stormed out and now…

You were left waiting as pieces of a hushed conversation, or perhaps argument, drifted through the closed door.

“...Do you propose we do?”

The margrave.

You grimaced at the thought of speaking to him as soon as that meeting was over. He sounded like he was in a bit of a fowl mood, and you really would have preferred to wait until a later date.

“What do you think is going on in there?” Sylvain asked, shooting you a sidelong look.

You shrugged, your gaze dropping to your lap as footsteps grew closer to the door and it was flung open. Sylvain also did his best to act like he hadn’t been listening.

“Ah, young (y/n).” Rodrigue’s voice made you lift your gaze, and you blinked in surprise at the sight of Felix’s father.

But Felix was not around.

Curious.

“You two had better come in.” The margrave said grimly, appearing behind his friend and opening the door wider so that you and Sylvain could enter. “We have some bad news.”

He looked around the room outside before carefully shutting the door once more.

“Sylvain, do you recall the death of Grand Duke Rufus?” The margrave asked, making you raise an eyebrow.

He had been murdered two days before, and you had a sinking feeling about what was going to be said next.

“Did they find out who did it?” Sylvain asked, flopping into a chair in front of his father’s desk.

“I’m afraid they did.” Rodrigue said carefully, looking down at the ground for a moment before he looked back up at the two of you. “I just arrived from the capital after rushing there the moment I heard the news.”

“What news?” You asked quietly, moving to stand behind the chair Sylvain was sitting in.

“His highness was found guilty of regicide the very next day. He was the only one who could have done it.” The margrave sighed deeply, looking at his desk instead of at the two of you. “I’m sorry to tell you this but… He was executed yesterday.”

Sylvain gaped, and you grimaced at the news.

It was quiet for a long while until the redhead finally spoke.

“Dimitri’s dead?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And at last, I find the motivation to write. The amount of times I opened the document for this and left it open for several hours without actually writing anything over the past 2 weeks? An embarrassing number. (Let's just say it has been a rough couple of weeks)
> 
> Don't worry, I am not sick nor have I been sick recently. I am staying holed up at home doing my classes online and playing an absurd amount of Animal Crossing. I've just... Been unmotivated.
> 
> Anywho, this chapter is the very start of the war, the next one will take place a couple years in and then we'll actually be in the timeskip stuff (which is my favourite part tbh). Hopefully I'll be able to pick up the pace again, after all I really have nothing much to do with all this stuff going on in the world right now.


	28. A Promise I Cannot Keep

“Do you ever wonder how in the world we ended up here?”

You looked up from the bandage you were tying around Sylvain’s arm, pausing to think his question over for a moment before focusing your gaze back on the fresh injury.

“I do not need to wonder,” You replied, looping it around his arm once you were happy with the tension in the bandage. “I can tell you exactly how we got here. Did you, perhaps, hit your head too?”

“That’s not what I-” He cut himself off with a sigh.

“As I recall,” You hummed, taking the opportunity with a feline smile. “You charged into the front lines by yourself, then acted surprised when an archer hit you with one of his arrows.”

“As _I_ recall,” Sylvain shot back, trying and failing to look annoyed. “I was chasing after a certain princess who had gotten herself surrounded and somehow expected to get out alive.”

“And yet you’re the one in need of a bandage.” You retorted, tucking the end of the bandage in before stepping away from him with a huff. “But to answer your earlier question… I _have_ wondered how we ended up in this mess. How one peace treaty landed us on the front lines of a war we don’t want to fight.”

“You don’t have to fight in this war.”

“I am not going back to the estate.” You snapped, crossing your arms. “We have had this discussion before-”

“I know, I know.” The redhead raised his hands in surrender, shaking his head before he looked up at you again. “I just… I want you to be safe.”

“Two and a half years of war and you still think you need to protect me,” You sighed, shaking your head with exasperation. “I think it was you who first objected to my staying behind all those years ago.”

“You’re right.” Sylvain pulled his sleeve down and stood. “But after what happened last year…”

“That was last year, and this is now. I am not about to go and almost die on you again.” You replied, picking up his coat and holding it out for him. “Besides, If I leave, who will protect you?”

“I can protect myself just fine.” He sighed, taking his coat from your hand.

“And I cannot?” You raised an eyebrow, noting how he was avoiding your gaze. “I know you are worried but… I am not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” He asked, shooting you a teasing grin as he pulled his coat over his shoulders and put his arms through the sleeves.

You rolled your eyes, moving toward the exit of the tent. “Promise.”

It wasn’t really a promise you could make during wartime. He knew that too.

But somehow in making that promise, it made him look a little less tense. His shoulders relaxed a little, and his next smile came a bit easier as he followed you out of the tent.

You nodded to various soldiers in passing, having spent enough time in the camp fighting alongside them. But still, no one knew who you truly were. You spent your time honing your skills with various Fodlan fighting styles, only using the ones you’d grown up with in the heat of battle when no one could assume that you were doing anything but making the best of your situation.

“Any idea what they want from us this time?” Sylvain asked after a short while.

“None.” You replied, glancing up at him with a slight smile. “I suspect it will be a lecture.”

“You think they’ll go with the ‘we’ll send you back to the estate next time’ or the ‘your lives matter more than you think’ spiel?” The redhead nudged you, his amused grin sparking a grin on your face, too. “Ooh, maybe my father will yell at us about being reckless and storm out so that Lord Fraldarius can tell us that he’s just stressed and ask that we try to be a bit more careful next time.”

You snorted, remembering each of the described scenarios.

“Maybe they will pretend nothing is wrong and conveniently forget to bring us to the next battle.” You added, earning a laugh from your future husband.

“They really did do that once, didn’t they?” He asked, ignoring the curious stares from those you were walking past.

Laughter wasn’t common in this camp, no matter how high morale was.

And these days… Morale didn’t get very high. The Kingdom and Dukedom armies had been in a stalemate for almost a full year now, neither side gaining or losing ground. And the troops were all suffering for it.

Even you had to admit that things looked pretty bleak. It was beginning to feel like the months you’d spent in the Sreng palace, simply waiting to hear news from the front lines.

You glanced at the Lance of Ruin on Sylvain’s back, wondering if he remembered the events of that year too. You hadn’t understood back then, but now… You shook your head, clearing it of the thoughts that had been haunting you the past few days.

There was no point thinking about events that had long since gone. No point worrying that the past was repeating itself once more.

***

The first time the assassin struck, you were saved by a young soldier who had been pestering you to teach him some sword techniques.

The two of you had paused at the edge of the camp, and you’d put a hand onto his shoulder with a smile as you promised to teach him when your patrol was over.

His eyes had widened, and moments later you’d hit the snow-covered ground with a thud. He fell shortly after, with a crossbow bolt in his chest.

You’d called for a healer for what felt like hours, but by the time one arrived… His breathing had long since stopped.

Sylvain had gently pulled you away, muttering soothing words into your ear as he took you to a nearby stream and helped you wash the soldier’s blood off of your hands. Neither of you had thought anything of it, death, after all, was a common product of war.

And it wasn’t the first time a lone soldier from the Dukedom had attacked the camp before retreating into the forest and disappearing among the trees.

But the second time, you started to get a bad feeling about the whole thing.

You’d gone scouting, taking a look at the surrounding area and at what the enemy were up to in their nearby camps. Nothing unusual was going on, and you were in the process of returning to your own camp when a crossbow bolt landed at your feet and someone charged at you from the shadows of the trees.

You’d made short work of him, retrieving your dagger from his chest with a satisfied smirk as you remembered the soldier from the day before. In Sreng, blood begets blood after all.

But you’d paused upon seeing the knife in his hand.

A call from a nearby enemy camp snapped you out of your daze and you grabbed his dagger, clumsily hiding it in your coat before taking off into the trees so that you wouldn’t be found.

When you returned to the camp, you made a beeline for Sylvain, who was deep in conversation with a small group of soldiers whom he’d befriended.

He smiled when he saw you, but that smile quickly turned into a frown as he saw the expression on your face. And the snow, partially stained red, on your coat.

“Sorry, gentlemen.” He said slowly, peeling off from the group to follow you to a different part of the camp. “We’ll have to pick this up another time.”

You led him a short distance away, waiting until you were out of earshot of everyone before you turned to look at him again.

“What is it?” He asked finally, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he looked at you. “Did you find something on that scouting mission? Because that’s really more for the command-”

He cut himself off, frowning at the knife you produced from your coat.

“Is that…?”

“From Sreng.” You nodded, pocketing the knife again. “I was attacked while scouting. He had this on him. And… A Crossbow.”

“So that bolt wasn’t just a Dukedom soldier taking a potshot…” Sylvain murmured, a hand leaving his pocket so he could run it through his hair. “But why? We put the marriage on hold years ago!”

“I do not know.” You sighed, shoulders slumping. “But I suspect this is not the end of it.”

“You think more assassins are going to come here?”

“Until I am dead, yes.”

“Then we have to move you to a new camp.”

“They will still find me.”

“Then we keep moving you until-”

“Sylvain.” You held up a hand to silence him. “They found me here, in the middle of nowhere. They will be able to find me anywhere.”

“So what do we do?” Sylvain asked, his frown deepening.

“I… Have to go home.” Your gaze dropped to the ground as you spoke.

“Home?” He echoed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re going to go back to Sreng? Now?”

“I have to find out who sent them.” You said, looking up again with fresh determination. “And I will not be able to do so here.”

You had to go.

For the safety of everyone else here.

“Then let me come with you.” He took hold of one of your hands as he spoke, a sad smile making its way onto his face.

As if he already knew the answer.

You shook your head. “You would die.”

“_You_ could die, too.” Sylvain murmured.

_Only if I lost you_, you thought.

“I will be fine,” You sighed, tugging your hand free and forcing a light smile onto your face. “I grew up surrounded by danger.”

“Well, if you’re really set on this…”

“I am.”

“We’d better go tell my father, then.”

***

“Alright, you’re all set.” Sylvain sighed, stepping back from the horse he had just finished putting a saddle onto. “You sure about this?”

“I have to go.” You replied, running a hand over the horse’s flank.

“Just… Be careful, yeah?” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he spoke, going so far as to avoid meeting your eyes.

“I will be back,” You promised, swinging yourself onto the horse with practiced ease. “You will not even notice I was gone.”

“Promise?”

You smiled, forcing back a laugh as you remembered his words from just a few days before.

“I promise.”

But as you rode away into the night, heading for a place you never thought you’d see again…

You knew that it was a promise you could not keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's another chapter down!  
I've had a really chill weekend, spent most of it watching a Midsomer Murders marathon on TV and I'm honestly surprised I haven't started writing a murder mystery yet. I've watched. So many. Murders.
> 
> Anywho, on Tuesday I'm not going to have internet, and I'm not really sure how long I'm not going to have it, so you might end up with no updates for a while. If I end up writing a lot to fill the time then you can expect some updates as soon as the net's back.


	29. A Bittersweet Reunion

Sylvain Jose Gautier knew two things.

One: Byleth, his dead professor was, in fact, more alive than most people believed.

And Two: He was in serious danger of getting beheaded.

He hadn’t noticed the thief sneaking up behind him as he cleared a path towards his professor and what he thought might just have been Dimitri. Hadn’t even noticed that he’d drawn too far ahead of Felix and Ingrid, who had practically dragged him half of the way here.

He really didn’t think that any of his other classmates would keep the promise they made five years ago. Let alone the professor who died just a few months later. But here they all were.

Well, all but one, that is.

And he had a feeling she’d never intended to keep that promise.

Just as she’d never intended to keep the one she made two and a half years later.

Nonetheless, his horse had long since thrown him off and disappeared into the night. And Sylvain was now on his ass, with no weapon handy and a bloodthirsty thief looming over him with a sword that Felix would absolutely appreciate.

_Perhaps he’d appreciate it even more once it’s killed me._ He thought drily, unable to stop the slight smile from making its way onto his face.

Unable to stay serious, even in the face of death. Perhaps there really _was_ something broken inside of him.

But before he could decide that he’d never get to find out, an axe buried itself in the thief’s chest. Sylvain only found this out shortly after the fact, when the blood hit his face and he opened his eyes just in time to see the sword drop out of the limp hand of a very dead human being.

He scrambled backwards before the body could fall on him, and crudely wiped the blood away with his free hand. The fact that he could still feel _something_ on his face after this action meant one of two things: He’d either just spread it over his face and made it worse, or he’d managed to get mud from the ground below him onto his face instead.

But that didn’t matter right now.

What mattered was who had thrown that axe.

He suddenly remembered he could breathe; and his chest heaved with each breath as he looked first at the sword that had nearly ended him, then at the axe that had saved him.

And then at the gloved hand that took hold of the axe and not-so-gently pulled it from his would-be killer’s chest.

“How is it,” A familiar voice started, making Sylvain’s eyes widen. “That I always show up just in time to save you?”

The redhead frowned, wondering if maybe he _had_ died. Or maybe this was all a fever dream, and he was back in one of the medical tents on the front lines.

He turned his head, slowly looking up and locking eyes with someone he both wanted, and _never wanted_ to see again.

He stood, mouth opening and closing as his brain tried to process what his eyes were seeing.

She had a new set of armour, two swords crossed over her back, and was smiling broadly as she hefted the axe she’d just thrown across the battlefield in one hand, and held his lance in the other. 

“That’s mine.” He said finally, mentally cursing himself for not being able to come up with anything clever.

“It is.” She agreed, holding the lance out for him. “Would you like to go use it on some thieves?”

He should have been mad at her. Should have asked her where she’s been all this time. Should have taken his lance and walked away without a word just as she’d once done all those years ago.

But he couldn’t ignore her. Couldn’t ignore that smile. Or those eyes.

Or the fact that his heartbeat had sped up at the sight of her, betraying the feelings his mind didn’t want him to feel.

And finally, _finally_, he took the lance from her, their hands barely brushing against each other, and nodded.

“Yeah.” 

***

She was sitting across from Annette and Mercedes when he arrived, plate in hand.

She laughed at something one of the girls had said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she looked up just in time to lock eyes with him. She smiled softly, turning her eyes back to her companions as she answered their questions.

_Where have you been?_ he wanted to ask.

No, he wanted to _yell_. To yell and cry and demand why.

_Why_ she never came back. _Why_ she couldn’t keep her promise to him but kept her promise to the class. _Why_... Why she never even sent word that she was OK.

But he couldn’t do that.

Couldn’t drag a dark cloud over the happy reunion of the class. They’d already had to deal with the reality that while Dimitri was alive… He wasn’t the boy they’d once known. Far from it.

But still… He couldn’t bring himself to take that seat by her side. Instead he sat further down the table, next to Felix with Ingrid taking a seat on his other side. His friend grimaced, looking first at Sylvain then down the table to where (y/n) was sitting, trying to hide the confused frown on her face as she realised that he wasn’t going to sit in his usual spot.

As soon as he finished his meal, he left.

Footsteps followed not long after, and he turned with an amused grin.

“Listen, Felix, I know you don’t really like the company but-” He cut himself off, finding himself looking at someone who was definitely not Felix. “(y/n).”

“I did not get to talk to you properly today,” She said, smiling brightly up at him. “After the battle you disappeared.”

“I didn’t really feel like talking,” Sylvain muttered, looking away from the dazzling smile that made him want to forgive her. “And I’m feeling a bit too tired to talk right now.”

“But Sylvain-”

“Stop.” His hands curled into fists, and he finally dared to look up once more. “Just… Don’t bother. You can’t disappear for two and a half years and expect everything to go back to the way it was.”

Her smile fell, and she blinked. Once. Twice. 

“I… Don’t understand.”

“Two and a half years, (y/n).” His voice dropped dangerously low. “Two. And a half. Years… You disappeared without a trace. No letters, no messages, no… No sign that you were OK! I thought you were dead!”

Her eyes shone with hurt, and he almost took a sort of pleasure in it.

After all that he’d been through, waiting for something, _anything_ that told him what was going on… Every rider in the distance getting his hopes up only to drag them back down when he realised that once more she hadn’t come back…

After all that loneliness…

She deserved to feel some of that hurt, too.

He stared at her for a while longer, waiting for an apology that he knew wasn’t coming. But still… She said nothing, just stared with that strange frown. With those eyes, shining with tears that he knew she wouldn’t let herself cry.

And finally he tore his gaze away.

He turned away, walking into the darkness with nothing but a fiery anger and a hole in his heart that he wasn’t sure would ever heal.

And he wondered if this was how all those girls had felt, all those years ago, when he’d broken their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst? in MY fic? It's more likely than you think!  
I asked my beta reader if I write too much angst and she said she thrives off it so. I guess that was a no.
> 
> Besides, this is only the start of the timeskip, I have soooo many more chapters worth of stuff to go over. Anywho, I have internet again! huzzah! I also have classes again so that's less huzzah but I'll figure it out.


	30. A Choice, a Realisation and a Debt

You found solace in the greenhouse.

While all of your classmates and, surprisingly, all of the faculty had returned to the monastery, there were still a few absent people. It was mostly Golden Deer students, who you assumed were somewhere in the Leicester Alliance territories, and the few Black eagles students who had stood against Edelgard back then.

Those students had been effectively adopted into your class by Annette and Mercedes, but were now painfully absent from the reunion. You were sure that once they heard of the army Dimitri was leading they would arrive, but for now their rooms were dusty and unused.

And of all the missing faces… Dedue was the one everyone missed the most.

Even now, as you often found yourself in the greenhouse just to get away from the surprised looks when people realised that you could, in fact, speak… You felt that there was something missing, something distinctly wrong.

It was simply that its once diligent caretaker was no longer there. Leaving weeds to roam free, flowers to die… And an eerie silence to settle over the building.

No one else came here for that exact reason, and it was where you chose to seal yourself away when it all became too much for you. You’d thought that this reunion would be a good thing, you would finally be able to speak with your classmates, to fight with them against Edelgard.

But they were all put off by your miraculous ability to speak to them. And Sylvain…

He hadn’t spoken to you since that first night.

He’d spoken at you, around you and in the same room as you but… Never to you.

And to that end, you were lonely. You almost considered going back to Sreng but, well, you’d been lonely there too, hadn’t you?

You trusted no one, and no one had really trusted you. It hadn’t mattered back then, it was simply the way of things for you. But after spending time in Fodlan you’d realised just how painfully alone you were in the palace. Which was the main reason why you’d come back.

So much for that.

You’d come back to friends who treated you like a stranger, and a man who wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

You spared one last glance into the greenhouse, a sigh escaping your lips as you waited for a voice to ask what was wrong. But of course it never came. And it never would.

“I suppose it’s about time I left then,” You murmured, gently pulling the door open. “It seems father was right after all… There really is nothing for me here.”

But you couldn’t leave just yet, you had no plans on where to go and no idea if you would be allowed to leave if you tried to do so in broad daylight. You didn’t really want to return to Sreng, but if you truly weren’t wanted here… At least you could make yourself useful in the palace.

***

“Have you noticed anything different about (y/n) lately?” Mercedes asked softly as she placed a cup of tea in front of Ingrid.

“Aside from the fact that she can talk now?” Ingrid grumbled, earning a sideways glance from Sylvain.

The Galatea heir had, surprisingly, had almost no contact with him and Felix until shortly after (y/n) had left. And he suspected that Felix had sent word of Sylvain’s ‘sulking’ (he was not, in fact, sulking) to her, which was why she suddenly managed to get away from her father’s territory to support him.

Despite not knowing the truth of the situation, Ingrid had ended up firmly on Felix's side. Which was the side that didn't like (y/n).

Sylvain wished his friends would stop trying to protect him. He didn't hate her, he was just… Hurt.

With all the war preparations going on he didn't really have time to comb through the knot of feelings that had been slowly suffocating him ever since she'd dropped back into his life. This was the first time he was even having a proper conversation with Mercedes too…

"No, it's just…" The young healer sighed, biting her lip thoughtfully for a moment. "Up until last week she seemed… Lost, I guess. But the past few days she’s been so much more focused. It’s almost like she’s-”

“A different person?” Sylvain interrupted, earning a glance from Ingrid.

“Oh no, she’s the same as she was back when we were students here.” Mercedes shook her head, looking down at the cup sitting in front of her with a slight sigh. “I’m just worried that maybe she thought we didn’t want her here. It was a little jarring to hear her talking all of a sudden, and I think that Annie and I might have given the impression that we didn't like her anymore…"

"Well, maybe if she's feeling lonely it's about time she told us where she's been all this time." Ingrid said, her eyes alight with a quiet fury. "She can't just disappear for two and a half years and expect to just be welcomed back."

"Ingrid-" Sylvain started, a sigh escaping his lips.

"No, Sylvain you can't seriously be trying to defend her right now!" Ingrid stood, slamming her hands onto the table, spilling some of the untouched tea out of her cup. "We've all been fighting this war while she's been doing goddess knows what! For all we know she could be spying for the empire!"

"She's not." Sylvain said, his voice eerily quiet compared to Ingrid's shouting.

"And how do you know that?" Ingrid asked. "You said it yourself that the very night she declared war on the church, Edelgard came to the monastery and spoke to (y/n). _Pleaded_ with her to join the empire’s army. She could have been spying on all of us from the very start!"

"She's not an imperial spy, Ingrid!" Sylvain found himself on his feet too, his throat hoarse from a shout that he didn't quite remember shouting.

A few people looked up at the sound of the word 'spy', then back down at the sight of an argument.

"Then who is she? Where has she been all this time, if not fighting on the front lines with us?" Ingrid yelled, poking his chest with one finger. "Why do you trust someone who we know next to nothing about? Why do you trust her more than Felix? More than _me?_"

Sylvain paused, taken aback by the truth of the statement.

Why _did_ he trust her so much?

Was it because she’d saved his life more times than he could count? Or was it the way she always saw through his act, no matter how convincing he made it?

(y/n) didn’t trust anyone, and she’d said as much to him several times.

Yet he trusted her so completely. Trusted that she wouldn’t betray him.

It was probably a bit narcissistic. To believe that someone he knew almost nothing about would be so completely loyal to him. It was even a bit funny to think that Sylvain had such blind faith in the one person who, realistically, he should have been doing everything in his power to drive away.

And in some ways, he _was_ driving her away-

Mercedes’ earlier concerns came to mind and he swore under his breath as it all suddenly came together.

“Sylvain?” Mercedes asked, reaching a tentative hand out to him. “Is something wrong?”

He forced a light smile onto his face.

“No, everything’s fine.” He stepped away from the table, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I just forgot about something the professor asked me to do, if you’ll excuse me.”

He walked away casually, only letting his facade break down when he was sure that none of his friends could see him.

And then he sprinted towards the greenhouse.

***

You slipped through the darkened forest easily enough, finally headed in the direction of a nearby town where you would be able to find shelter and a horse.

You’d found your way out of the monastery without even the lookouts noticing an hour before, when there was still sunlight to navigate with, and had spent that last hour covering your tracks and laying down misleading ones.

If anyone managed to miss you before you got far enough away, you’d ensured that they wouldn’t be able to find you in enough time. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice you were gone until they found your still-open door in the morning, and the letter resting atop your pillow.

But naturally the universe had other plans.

“(y/n)!”

You stopped in your tracks, turning on one heel to find none other than Sylvain skidding to a halt just a little way away from you. He took a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving as if he’d sprinted all the way out here.

But how had he known where you would be going?

How had he seen through your fake tracks so easily?

In fact, the strangest thing was that he was the very last person you expected to come running after you.

“Where are you…” He took a second, sucking in another deep breath before continuing. “Where are you going?”

“Clearly I am going nowhere.” You sighed, crossing your arms.

“I thought it was odd that you were spending so much time with the lookouts and night watch.” Sylvain took a hesitant step forward, but stopped as soon as you took one back. “Come on, it’s hard talking to you when you stand so far away. Can I come just a bit closer?”

You pursed your lips, still wondering how he’d found you and why he was bothering. Hadn’t he told you not to do that just the other day? Hadn’t he made it clear that you weren’t welcome?

Despite all that, you gave him the slightest nod, and he took a few steps closer, stopping a respectable but more reasonable distance away.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked, looking up at you and then around at the scenery, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he was here.

“I may not know a lot about friendship or trust but…” You looked away, shifting the strap of the bag over your shoulder. “I know when I am not wanted.”

“Not wanted?” Sylvain shook his head, a breathless sigh escaping his lips. “(y/n), what do you mean? Of course you’re wanted.”

“No, I am not!” You huffed, turning your gaze back to him. “Now that I am speaking to them, everyone treats me like a stranger! You are mad at me and… I… I do not know how to fix it.”

“So you’re just going to run away?” He asked, shaking his head with an incredulous look on his face. “I never thought of you as that kind of person.”

“It is cowardly, I know,” Your eyes dropped to the floor, and you bit your lip for a moment before continuing. “I just cannot help but think that… You would be happier if I had not returned.”

“That’s not true!”

You looked up once more, unable to find a reply as you looked at Sylvain struggle to find the words he wanted to say.

“I haven’t shown it but… I really am glad you’re back. I’m just- I’m just hurt, OK?” He sighed, feebly reaching a hand toward you before snatching it back to his side. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Then what _do_ you want?” You tilted your head, frowning as you watched a myriad of emotions whirling through his gaze.

“I want to know why.” Sylvain said finally, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know you don’t really do apologies, and I’m fine with that but… I need to know why you didn’t come back. Why you didn’t even let me know you were OK.”

“Because I had to stay away to keep you safe,” You replied, running a hand through your hair uneasily. “Once I got rid of the bounty on my head… There was no way I could return to Fodlan, or even send a message, without endangering you.”

“You traded your freedom for _me_?” He breathed, this time finding the courage to take hold of one of your hands. “Why’d you go and do that?”

"Because-” You cut yourself off, unable to tell him the truth of why you had made that choice.

Even you weren’t quite sure what that truth was.

Was it duty? Some strange sense of loyalty towards the man who’d kept you safe?

Or was it something far more simple than that? Something that you were too afraid to acknowledge, let alone admit.

But your answer didn’t matter in the end, because Sylvain’s eyes widened as he spotted something behind you. He muttered something akin to a prayer to the Goddess under his breath and you finally turned to see what the fuss was about only to see something that was guaranteed to bring you running back to the monastery.

“Seers guide us…” You whispered, taking a few steps back as you gazed at the lines of torches marching through the darkness and coming over the hills you had almost blundered over.

You’d almost run right into an imperial army.

You sucked in a breath, glancing up at Sylvain for a moment and seeing the question in his eyes.

_’Will you stay?’_

You looked down at the ground, biting your lip as you considered your options.

You should have chosen to go back to Sreng. Should have chosen your homeland and your duty over an old promise and an even older fondness for the redhead who couldn’t decide how he felt anymore.

But Sylvain had, unbeknownst to the both you, saved your life.

Had he not shown up when he did… You would have been a prisoner, or worse, dead.

So you touched your hand lightly to his shoulder and gestured back to the monastery.

You would go back and warn them. And fight with them.

Because a life debt could not be so easily forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always sad when I get to the timeskip in azure moon and Dedue just Isn't There. Can't believe I have to wait until the bridge place to see him.
> 
> Anyway, my week was crazy! I had the mother of all assignments due on Friday and some of it just refused to actually... Work. So that was no fun at all. I would have finished this chapter yesterday but I stayed up too late playing persona 5 royal. Oops.
> 
> Now, it's like 11PM and I want to sleep. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and as always I am very grateful that you're reading this.


	31. The Friends They Keep

“You should probably apologise to him.”

You didn’t bother looking away from the training dummy you were in the process of pummelling when Felix spoke. 

While the swordsman had never particularly _liked_ you, he had a certain air of respect for you that came from the many training bouts that he had frequently challenged you to. Of course, that respect only really extended as far as the training grounds or the battlefield, where it didn’t matter who you were as long as you could fight.

At this point, you’d decided that Felix was only pretending to dislike you. That you’d somehow grown on him the past few years and that he was just very bad at showing it.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t care about this sort of thing, Felix.” You replied finally, twirling the training sword in your hand before launching back into your routine.

“I don’t.” He replied a little too quickly, and you smiled. “Sylvain’s distracted, and I have no doubt in my mind that it’s because of your… Whatever it is the two of you are doing.”

“It _is_ quite curious isn’t it?” You smacked the dummy right on the head with a satisfying thump.

“We can’t afford to lose anybody.” His presence hovered beside you, just close enough for you to turn around and swing your sword right into his face if you felt so inclined. “Not with so few troops and supplies.”

“And distraction on the battlefield means death.” You paused your onslaught, dropping your arms to your sides and turning to look at the blue-haired man before you. “If you’re so worried that Sylvain will die, why don’t _you_ do something about it?”

“I’m not the one who’s smitten with him.”

“Smitten?” You scoffed, turning back to the dummy and swinging at it with a renewed energy. “You’re going to have to explain what you mean by that, Felix. After all, I’m just a simple _barbarian_.”

The sharp intake of breath you heard beside you was the only indicator you had that your comment had hit its mark. After spending two years fighting a war with you he’d grudgingly stopped calling you a barbarian, even offered up what you thought was an apology but could have been a thinly veiled threat. With Felix it was difficult to tell.

Besides, you weren’t _smitten_. That was ridiculous.

“You were going to run away.” He said instead, and you almost wanted to laugh at the change of subject. “And don’t give me any of that ‘impromptu scouting’ nonsense that Sylvain was spouting. I saw the packed bag you hid in your room before you warned us about the imperial army.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it, Felix.” You hit the dummy once. Twice. Two broad, heavy blows that any fit warrior could have easily seen coming. “I _was_ in the process of running before Sylvain caught up to me. I assume you have something to say about that, so why don’t you?”

“Because I still can’t figure out why you decided to stay.”

Your sword hit the dummy with a loud crack, and you whirled around to look at Felix for the second time that evening.

“If Sylvain hadn’t come after me, I would have blundered right into that army.” You breathed, your eyes instinctively checking the whole room for spies. “I could be dead or captured right now, and as someone who comes from a place that’s famous for not taking prisoners I’d say that’s a fate worse than death.”

“So you’re staying because you feel like you owe him something.” Felix almost sneered at the thought. “Don’t bother thinking like that. Sylvain won’t see it that way and if you want him to survive until next month you’ll apologise or you’ll leave.”

You shook your head, an angry huff escaping your lips as you strode across the room and replaced your training sword. You’d only just arrived, but somehow you’d lost your motivation.

“How about this Felix,” You said, pausing in the doorway. “I’ll apologise if you can admit to me right now that Sylvain’s your friend and you care about his wellbeing.”

You waited for a minute, knowing that the answer wouldn’t come.

Besides, Sylvain hadn’t asked for an apology. He’d asked for time. And he’d asked for space. And… He’d asked for you to _stay_.

Apologies weren't in your nature. And he knew it. He'd even said as much that night, he'd specifically told you that he didn't _need_ one.

Besides, what would you even apologise for?

Leaving? You definitely had his blessing to leave so it couldn’t be that.

Not coming back? You were pretty sure that you had, in fact, returned.

Trying to run away? Hadn’t _he_ apologised during all that?

You weren’t about to apologise when you didn’t know what you were doing it for. That would just be a waste of breath, a series of words that had no real meaning. Pointless.

And surely Felix knew that too.

“All the hurtful things you’ve said to him, all the times you’ve pretended not to care…” You shook your head, a dry chuckle escaping your lips. “All the scars I have just from saving his life because he was troubled by what _you_ said to him… Don’t bother trying to tell me how to be his friend, because I’m not sure you know how.”

***

Ingrid was the next person to try and get you to apologise.

She had passed you in the hallway, or at least, she had almost passed you before she stopped and called your name.

You turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

She thought you were a spy, Sylvain had told you as much when he brought you back to the monastery and came up with a lie to tell the others about why the two of you were out there.

You were sure that no one would have blamed you if you had just explained but...

_”Dimitri… I don’t even recognise him anymore. And I- I don’t trust him not to hurt you if he thinks for even one moment that you’re an imperial spy.”_

There was a time when his words would have shaken you to your very core. When you would have been so afraid of what might happen that you would have begun to believe the lie yourself.

But you weren’t afraid of Dimitri anymore.

Nor were you afraid of the look on Ingrid’s face as she stared at you, lips pursed and eyes betraying a lack of trust you weren’t sure you had earned.

She didn’t say anything, but you could see it in her eyes. That sliver of fear that she was losing her best friend.

She’d grown up with him, as far as you knew. So surely she knew that he had flirted with noblewomen to push them away. Because he didn’t trust any of them to look at him and see anything but his Crest or his status. Or both.

And that was when it hit you.

She didn’t know who you were. All she knew was that you were a noblewoman…

And that you’d hurt her friend.

All those times she’d scoffed at his flirting, and all that time she spent trailing behind him, cleaning up his messes…

It was a difficult thing, to love someone and know that they will never feel the same. To know that they will never look at you the way you look at them. Or perhaps, to know that your duty to your family came before anything else.

Your heart ached at the realisation that Ingrid loved Sylvain. And that she would never abandon her duty to her house to pursue that love, just as he would never see her as anything more than a friend he didn’t deserve.

“I see.” You said finally, making her blink in surprise.

“I haven’t said anything yet.” She replied, frowning even as you gave her a knowing smile.

“Right, of course.” You hummed, gesturing for her to start.

“You need to-”

“Apologise to Sylvain.” You finished, shrugging a shoulder at the shock on her face. “I am afraid Felix beat you to it.”

“_Felix_ asked you?” She asked, disbelief shining in her eyes. “I can hardly believe that.”

“I suppose you’ll also hardly believe that my answer was no.”

“You mean…?”

“Sylvain does not want an apology-”

“And how would you know what he wants?” And there it was. The fire in her eyes that confirmed all your suspicions. “You hurt him. For what? Because you realised you wouldn’t get to benefit from marrying him for his Crest?”

You took a step back, surprise washing over you like a bucket of cold water.

She thought… She thought you were after Sylvain for his Crest?

All this time… Had Ingrid really thought that you were chasing after him? Manipulating him so you could marry into a better house than your own?

It was almost laughable and yet you could see why she came to that conclusion. You’d spent a lot of time with him at the academy, choosing to speak only with him and no one else (as far as Ingrid knew, at least), which must have made him feel special.

And then you’d up and disappeared, now keeping your distance from Sylvain without looking too torn up about it while he was apparently distracted.

Your gaze softened, and you shook your head with a light laugh at the situation you’d ended up in. Really, it was well past time that Ingrid, of all people, found out who you were and why you were in Fodlan.

“I think there is something you need to hear.” You said finally, earning a quizzical look from the blonde. “Would you care to take this conversation somewhere we are less likely to be interrupted?”

***

Somehow, you had found yourself back at the table with Annette and Mercedes. 

How they found the time to have tea together so frequently was beyond you. How they managed to convince you that you also had the time to have tea with them was something you hoped no one would ever ask.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Mercedes commented, making you look up from the untouched tea in front of you. “Are you unwell?”

“No, I am fine.” You shook your head, smiling slightly at her. “I just… I did not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” Annette echoed. “I mean, I know we were surprised when you first started talking to us but… We can’t ask you to stop just because we weren’t expecting it.”

“Annie’s right,” Mercedes nodded, a kind smile on her face. “It wouldn’t be fair on you.”

“Fair.” You repeated, completely unable to understand the concept.

The general consensus in Sreng was simply that life wasn’t fair. Only the strongest survived, and only survivors clawed their way to the top. If someone far more experienced in combat than you tried to kill you, no one would help.

It was up to you to prove that you deserved to live.

There had been a time when you didn’t think that part of Sreng would leave you be, and it followed your every step. But then you’d gone home and faced up to your fears.

You had proved that you deserved to live.

With all the odds stacked against you, with high stakes and a purely selfish reason for wanting to return to Fodlan… You had proven yourself. It had surprised everyone in the palace, each and every one of them having believed that Fodlan had made you weak.

How wrong they had been.

"Well, yeah," Annette tilted her head slightly, a frown on her face at the sight of your confused expression. "I know life isn't really fair, but we can try to make it better for others while we go, can't we?"

"I… suppose." You looked down at your tea again, biting your lip thoughtfully as you processed Annette’s words.

“(y/n), is something the matter?” Mercedes asked, her gentle voice laced with concern.

“No, I… Hm… Actually, maybe there is.” You picked up a spoon, idly stirring your tea as you thought it over. “It’s… Sylvain. I think I hurt his feelings and I… I do not know how to fix it.”

Neither of them responded, and you glanced up just in time to see them exchange a look. You dropped your gaze before they could notice and took the opportunity to continue.

“I have been told to apologise but I’m not really sure I understand what for.” You grimaced, embarrassment washing over you at the thought of admitting your weakness to them. “One of my teachers once told me that an apology meant nothing, it was how you changed your behaviour to fix the issue that mattered. I… Do not know if I can change anything on this occasion.”

“Sometimes an apology is all you can offer.” Mercedes offered, making you timidly look up at her. “It might not be enough, but it’s a start.”

“But what if it isn’t enough?” You asked, running a hand through your hair as you considered the possibilities. “I… I do not want to lose him.”

“You’re not going to lose him,” Annette said, shaking her head with the slightest hint of amusement. “We all know _Sylvain_ doesn’t hold a grudge like that.”

“You are right.” You sighed, sitting back in your chair and relaxing your shoulders a bit. “But then there is the matter of Felix and Ingrid. They never leave his side these days.”

“Oh! I saw Sylvain going up to the Goddess Tower every night this week.” Annette cried, eyes shining with excitement. “I asked him why yesterday and he said he liked to take in the view before he went and got some sleep. Maybe you could find him tonight?”

You hadn’t really believed Annette, even going so far as to change the conversation to avoid arguing with her over the matter. But it really didn’t make any sense to you as to why he would go up there every night.

Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

And as luck would have it, the redhead strolled right into the doorway of the now abandoned and unlocked tower, completely unaware of your gaze watching him from the shadows.

Once you were sure that no one else planned on going up there, and that Sylvain was definitely up at the top…

You took in a deep breath, straightening your shoulders as you steeled yourself for whatever might happen next.

And you carefully stepped through the doorway, entering the Goddess Tower for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me longer than expected, but as I promised literal eons ago, it's time for the Goddess Tower. I always planned on doing it, but I wanted to do a Goddess Tower conversation that was... An actual conversation. So I had to save it for the timeskip. But hey, I got there in the end!
> 
> I love the Goddess Tower conversations so much, although the first time I had NO IDEA what was going on. I went into Three Houses embarrassingly blind, like, I don't think I watched a single trailer for it after the original announcement until the date announcement, and I didn't watch any of the videos about each house. In fact, I didn't even know they'd changed Edelgard's VA until I got about an hour into the game was like "Hang on a second..." (Her old VA was the whole reason I picked Black Eagles first,,, I probably would have gone Blue Lions first if I had actually paid attention lol)
> 
> Not gonna lie, I finished this chapter last night but I went straight to sleep instead of posting it. Never underestimate my ability to fall asleep immediately once it gets past 9PM.


	32. The Path She Chose

He had his back to the stairwell when you walked in.

And he didn't turn to look at you when your footsteps echoed around the room. You kept walking until you were standing beside him, turning your face up to look at the stars above.

"You know," you started, unsure whether or not to continue. But he needed to know. "I was originally sent to Fòdlan to kill you and take the Lance of Ruin."

"That's a cheery conversation starter." Sylvain muttered, still not tearing his gaze away from the view.

"You and I both know that I have never been very good at… Cheer.”

"I suppose growing up you didn't get much of a chance to be cheerful," he replied, gently nudging you with an elbow. "If I recall, you barely smiled for the first couple of months in Fòdlan. For a while there I thought you didn't know how."

"I didn't get much practice." You agreed, taking the opportunity to study him.

"Ok I'll bite," Sylvain finally looked at you, eyes shining with curiosity. "I thought you came here to marry me and seal a peace treaty between our countries but… well, killing me and taking the Lance of Ruin makes a strange amount of sense. So how come you haven't killed me yet? You had plenty of opportunities."

"I ask myself that all the time," you said wistfully, your gaze moving back to the stars above. "Even after that first night…"

"The first night you were in Fodlan?” He sounded confused, and when you looked back at his face he was frowning. “We didn’t really get any time alone that night.”

“You… Were not awake for it.” You grimaced at the thought of how strange it sounded.

“You were… Watching me sleep?” Sylvain frowned, but didn’t look too surprised. “So why didn’t you take that opportunity?”

_  
You tilted your head, watching the rise and fall of the Gautier heir’s chest as he slept._

_You had lain awake for hours, listening to the sounds of the house throughout the night and knowing you wouldn’t get any sleep._

_The footsteps of guards that you were sure wouldn’t be patrolling the hallway under normal circumstances, the sounds of rustling bed sheets and maids or butlers finishing their final duties before turning in for the night._

_The sounds of a household that ultimately trusted a stranger from another land far too much._

_Your door hadn’t even been locked, but from one look at the lock you decided that it would have been laughable if they’d thought it could hold you. They didn’t want you to feel like a prisoner, but in doing so they had allowed you to have a path right to the one person they could not afford to lose._

_The guards walked down the hallway with your room in it every few minutes, but were otherwise absent between those times. And it wasn’t like it had been hard to find Sylvain’s room anyway._

_You smiled demurely, examining your dagger under the light of the moon shining through the window._

_How easy it would be to end his very life right here._

_From what you had gathered from the envoy’s words, the lance your father had sent you to steal could only be used by his family because of some magical power bestowed upon their bloodline. How ridiculous. Staking your entire defense against an army on such a fragile thing as one single family line._

_The margrave and his wife were far too old to be having children now, and Sylvain was their only son… Even without stealing the lance you could end it all right here._

_No need for a marriage if Fodlan’s last line of defense was asleep and really quite vulnerable in front of you._

_It was almost unfair how easily they slept. These southerners who fought and killed your people, sleeping so soundly that they don’t notice when someone walks into their room._

_You stepped closer, your dagger hovering just over where his heart would be. How did he sleep so well? How could he sleep with no fear that someone would come along and make sure he didn’t wake up the next morning?_

_A strange sort of jealousy washed over you, and you realised that you couldn’t remember the last time you had slept like that. What they considered normal was a luxury for you, and you hated that you longed so deeply for something so dangerous._

_That was more than enough observation. You narrowed your eyes, mapping out your escape route in your head and counting down the seconds before the guards walked past so you could make the most of the situation._

_It was high time the Gautiers paid for their actions._

_And then there was a slight movement and you paused. Sylvain frowned, muttering something incomprehensible in his sleep as he shifted slightly._

_He was… Troubled?_

_You drew away, carefully stepping so he wouldn’t hear your footsteps and awaken. You swallowed, shakily putting away your knife as you made your way back to the door and waited for the sound of footsteps outside to fade._

_You glanced down at your hands, untouched by blood that hadn’t been shed._

_Why had you stopped?_

_What about him had made you unable to do what you had to do? What you had been ordered to do?_

_How had one action swayed you from your very loyalty to your father’s words?_

_You stepped outside as soon as the coast was clear, sparing one last, confused look at the man you’d failed to kill before you silently shut the door behind you. _

“I don’t know.” You sighed, gaze dropping to the floor. “I just… I did not go through with it.”

“And then you were dragged into another war.” Sylvain grimaced, running a hand through his hair as he turned his body to face you.

“I was not dragged into anything.” You shook your head, reaching out to take his hand in one of your own. “I chose to be here.”

“You came here because of a promise we made five years ago,” He snorted, looking down at your hand as if he was considering moving away, but decided against it. “Back when we thought things would be different.”

“No, I came here for _you_.” You said, tugging on his hand even as he looked up at you with surprise shining in his eyes. “Regardless of my father’s original intentions, the deal made to cement peace between our countries still stands until either of us dies.”

_Or my father dies,_ you thought, holding back a grimace at what you _weren’t_ telling him.

"You… Still want to go through with this marriage?” Sylvain blinked once. Twice. His frown deepening as he thought things through. “I thought you would have taken one look at this and run for the hills. I mean… This isn’t exactly a stable situation, Dimitri could very well get us all killed. Or kill us himself."

“His Highness cannot afford to fight a war on two fronts,” You replied, letting go of his hand and dropping your gaze to the floor. “As long as I am here, you will not have to worry about Sreng.”

"But still," He sighed. "You really want to go against your father's wishes?"

"My father is blinded by our ideals, and he is fighting a battle he cannot win." You shook your head, remembering the crazed light in his eyes when you refused to kill Sylvain. "I grew up with those same ideals, the same code of honour. You have since taught me how pointless it all is."

"I don't think I ever said 'pointless'-"

"But it _is_ pointless!" You interrupted, hands curling into fists at your sides. "Or at the very least, it has been distorted so much that it has become an obsession rather than a suggestion. We are so set in our ways that we are refusing to admit we are losing this fight.”

You didn’t wait for a response before continuing.

“I have seen what the relics can do, what their power can do and I-” You took a deep breath, using the opportunity to carefully think through your next words. “I would gladly go against everything I know so the needless deaths stop.”

“Wow.” Sylvain breathed, a grin spreading across his face. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice until now but… You really have changed since that day I met you at the border. You used to be so… I don’t know, stubborn? Not that you’re not still stubborn now but-”

“I understand.” You gave him a small smile, nodding once to show your agreement. “But I did not come here to tell you all of this.”

“Oh?”

“I came to apologise.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I do.”

“Told you you’re stubborn.”

“I did not disagree.”

“I know.” His grin softened, the look in his eyes morphing into something else. "But really, I don't need an apology or anything. You did what you had to do, I get it."

"You did not 'get it' before." You pointed out, tilting your head curiously.

"Yeah, I know, I haven't really been fair on you recently." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was mad at myself for being so worried about you while you were gone, even though I knew you would be OK. I took it out on you, and I'm sorry."

"I am supposed to be the one apologising." You laughed, giving the redhead a lopsided grin. "Your- _our_ friends were so worried that you have been distant lately because of something I did. But it seems that you were just feeling guilty about yelling at me."

"It _is_ kind of silly, isn't it?" Sylvain laughed too, his eyes shining happily. "We really need to stop doing this whole arguing thing. I don’t know about you, but I definitely work better when I’m not worried about you stabbing me in the back.”

“You get used to it after a while,” You said, grinning with amusement at the look on his face. “But I agree. Peace between our countries cannot be achieved if we cannot maintain the peace between ourselves.”

“Well, you know what they say about the Goddess Tower…”

“I don’t.”

“Really? How did you go through a whole year of the academy without hearing about it?”

“I spent most of the year not understanding anything anyone was saying.”

“Right.” He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well, they say that if a man and a woman make a promise here, they’re guaranteed to keep it.”

“Then let us make a promise." You suggested, holding out your hand. "We stick together until the end of the war, and when it's over… We finish what we started."

"Alright, that's a promise," Sylvain grinned, taking hold of your hand and giving it a firm shake. "I suppose that means no more arguments, huh?"

You frowned, releasing his hand and pressing your lips together thoughtfully

You knew that you should tell him. Knew that he deserved to know.

But what would he think?

What would he _say?_

The two of you had just made up, and he was so _happy_... 

It could wait.

"I suppose.” You agreed, unsure of whether or not it would be possible to keep that particular promise.

After all, there were a good deal of things that he would have to find out about you soon.

And you were sure that he wasn’t going to like them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! I'm very tired but I'm posting the chapter now before I forget.
> 
> Sorry it took so long! I couldn't bring myself to sit down and actually write for a while, and then I was struggling to find time to write, but I felt really motivated today so here we are!
> 
> I realised I wasn't really taking care of myself, so I started playing Ringfit Adventure (Which is really fun!) and I took a couple weeks off of some of my social media accounts (just doing the bare minimum, essentially) and I've been trying to get my sleep schedule back on track, which means my night-time writing has decreased significantly, but the hours of sleep I've been getting have increased and it hasn't been so hard to get up in the mornings, so yay me! Anywho, I'm feeling a lot better today (aside from being weirdly tired) so hopefully you'll see another chapter sooner rather than later.


	33. Ghosts

You didn’t bother masking your footsteps as you walked into the now ruined cathedral.

There was no reason to sneak up on Dimitri, nor was there much point to it.

He never spoke to anyone, save for the ghosts that haunted his every waking moment. You weren’t even sure that he slept all that much, and the question of how he functioned on so little food and sleep would have kept you up at night if you had cared.

As far as you were concerned, Byleth was calling the shots.

The wreck of a man in the cathedral was only a shell of someone you once knew. Someone you once feared.

It was hard to fear someone so broken, so lost, so… Vacant.

You crouched, sneering as you practically dropped the tray of food on the ground nearby. Once again, he had left the last tray practically untouched. What a waste of food.

“I wish you’d at least pretend to eat food like a normal person.” You grumbled, reaching for the old tray.

“So you can speak now.” Dimitri mused, his eye not leaving the debris in front of him.

You paused, studying the prince with a vague curiosity. In a way, had things taken a different turn for you… Was there a chance that you too would have ended up this way?

Lost in grief… Driven only by rage and hatred… Lonely.

“Yeah.” You finally said, brushing off such thoughts with a huff of annoyance. “What about it?”

“Just five years ago you were petrified of speaking to anyone.”

“Well, I found a reason to not be afraid anymore.”

“You also used to be petrified of _me_.”

You stiffened, narrowing your eyes at him as you wondered where he was going with this train of thought.

“Not anymore.” You murmured finally, waiting a moment before you adopted a laid-back grin that you could only have learnt from Sylvain. “I suppose those ghosts are telling you I’m not to be trusted huh? That my words are poison and I was pretending to be afraid so that you’d let your guard down?”

“No.” Finally his gaze turned to you, his piercing blue eye looking right through you. “They only cry out, begging me to help them move on. To kill that woman. Do you not hear it too?”

“Hear what?”

“The voices of those you’ve killed.”

“I don’t.” You shook your head, sitting on the ground below you and looking up at his towering form. “The ghosts of all those I have killed have long since moved on. I recite a prayer every time they die, ensuring that they cannot haunt anyone.”

“Except cowards.” Dimitri rumbled, his eye narrowing thoughtfully.

“Cowards do not deserve to make their way to the afterlife easily. In fact, were I to kill you I wouldn’t help you along.” You tilted your head, keeping your expression neutral as you studied him once more. “You hide behind your ghosts, claiming that they asked you to do all that you do. You are too afraid to own up to your sins.”

He turned to face you properly, his cape dragging across the ground and gathering up more dirt. You idly wondered how much heavier it would have to become before it hindered his ability to defend himself.

“You claim that they want you to avenge them, but the dead don’t want anything. They can’t.” You sighed, standing from your position on the floor as you spoke. “Once someone dies, their unfinished business is forgotten, their debts are erased and the deals they made are upheld only by the whim of those left behind. They cannot haunt you for something they no longer possess.”

“I suppose that means you think I am a monster, just like everyone else?” He asked, a hollow laugh escaping his lips.

“No.” You replied, turning away from him as you made your way outside once more. “I think you are a fool.”

***

_"You sure you want to come to Ailell with us?" Sylvain asked, trying very hard not to be fascinated by the two swords laid out before you. "I mean, it's going to suck for all of us, but you grew up in a frozen wasteland. It's going to be the exact opposite of that out there."_

_"Frozen wasteland?" You asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly._

_"My father went there once." He explained, eyes darting to the knife you were sharpening. "He told me about it."_

_"Of course he would describe it as a frozen wasteland." You scoffed, examining the edge of your dagger closely._

_“Well then how would you describe it?” Sylvain sighed, smiling despite his best attempts to sound annoyed._

_“It’s a frozen wasteland.” You shrugged, sheathing the dagger and putting it aside._

_Your comment earned you a bark of laughter from the redhead, which made you laugh quietly too. _

Your eyes fluttered open only to find that you were moving.

And you were a lot taller than you remembered.

You immediately shut your eyes against the sunlight, tilting your head down before you opened them again.

Ah. You were on a horse.

The problem was, you didn’t remember getting onto the horse. Nor did you remember letting someone keep one arm securely around your waist to stop you from falling while the other controlled the reins.

Your brain still felt fuzzy, not to mention the pounding headache that had just made itself known to you. And a wave of nausea washed over you moments later, making you shake your head weakly.

“Hey,” Sylvain murmured from his position behind you. “How are you feeling?”

OK, so that’s whose arm was keeping you on the horse.

“Terrible.” You grumbled, closing your eyes again as you willed your headache to go away.

“Well, try not to move or anything. Mercedes gave me strict orders to take you right back to the healers of the monastery as soon as possible,” His voice betrayed the concern he was surely feeling, and your cheeks warmed up with something that you were pretty sure was unrelated to your current predicament. “Apparently it was a bit too hot for you out there.”

You smiled, opening your eyes once more only to find yourself in another location entirely.

Hadn’t you just been sitting down?

You lifted your head with a frown, but immediately put it back onto the pillow as another wave of nausea rolled over you.

It seemed that no one else was in the room, which meant either the monastery was being attacked or they simply wanted you to rest.

You opted for the latter option, deciding that it was much too difficult to get up right now. Your head was hurting enough that you figured an imperial troop bursting through the door right now and ending you wouldn’t be so bad.

At least it would stop the headache.

***

“It is always such a sight when she takes to the battlefield,” Rodrigue commented from the open doorway, making Sylvain jump. “I hope (y/n) recovers quickly.”

“Manuela said that she’s been awake a few times today, and it looks like the worst of it is over,” Sylvain replied, smiling tiredly. “Which is probably why I’m allowed to be the one keeping an eye on her instead of a healer.”

“You know, Sylvain, your father was worried you would do something incredibly stupid and put the treaty at risk,” Duke Fraldarius smiled, putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “But if he were here now, I think he’d be proud of you. And if his highness were in a more… Coherent state, he would be proud too.”

“Proud?” Sylvain snorted, glancing first at the hand on his shoulder, then at the face of its owner. “What for?”

“Well, for a number of things,” The older man laughed softly. “Last time I came to the monastery you were more interested in chasing after girls than you were in your studies. But since I’ve arrived here I haven’t seen one vase thrown at you, nor have I seen anyone fleeing from you in tears.”

“Hey, the vase was _one time_.” Sylvain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Besides, even I’m not stupid enough to go around playing with girls’ hearts during wartime.”

“I think it’s more than that,” Rodrigue raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in a very Felix-like gesture. “The way you look at her… Well, it’s exactly the same as how your father looks at your mother when he thinks no one is watching.”

“That’s not- I don’t- what?” The redhead stammered, blinking a couple of times to check if he was asleep or not.

First Byleth, and now Rodrigue?

What was it with people and telling him that he was in love with (y/n)?

Sure, she was gorgeous and her skills were more than impressive…

No. No, he wasn’t in love.

That was ridiculous.

He didn’t trust anyone enough to fall in love. He couldn’t fall in love, couldn’t let himself be vulnerable like that… It just wasn’t possible.

Everyone was only after his Crest, no one truly saw him as a person. All anyone would ever see was his Crest.

But… She didn’t, did she?

She hadn’t even known what a Crest was until he’d explained it to her.

And then she’d basically gone and told him how ridiculous that was.

(y/n)... She really had seen him as a person, and treated him like one, from day one. And it had sucked when she went away. He’d spent so long waiting for her to return, and all that time it had felt like some crucial piece of him was _missing_.

And now she was finally back-

“Oh.” Sylvain murmured, very nearly gaping at the realisation. “_Oh_.”

_Oh no._

“There’s no need to look so frightened,” Rodrigue chuckled, patting the younger man’s arm before turning to leave. “Count yourself lucky, most arranged marriages do not turn out the way this one has.”

“Arranged- How did you know about that?”

“It isn’t common knowledge?”

“Father said I couldn’t tell anyone!”

“Well, your father needs to learn how to hold his liquor.”

Sylvain really did gape this time, wondering just how many people his father had told in the time that he’d been here. Rodrigue took the opportunity to leave, a knowing smile plastered onto his face as he disappeared round the corner.

All the redhead could really do was bury his head in his hands, groaning at the realisation that he now had two problems on his hands.

One, he was definitely in love with (y/n), and he definitely needed to find a way to tell her _before_ they got married.

And two, more people knew about the princess’ true identity than he thought, which was going to be challenging, especially if Dimitri somehow found out.

Somehow Sylvain doubted that the fallen prince would be very lenient with her if he found out that she was from Sreng.

A quiet sound pulled him from his stupor, and he pulled his hands away from his face just in time to see the girl he loved (wow, it felt _good_ to admit that to himself) mumbling something under her breath as she rolled onto her side in her sleep.

He smiled, a strange feeling of giddiness washing over him as he realised that she was alive. She was alive and she was fine and _Goddess_, he loved her so much.

He could only hope that some day, she would feel the same.


	34. The Friends We Knew

Your opponent hit the floor, looking up at you with a look of sheer horror on his face as he scrambled backwards across the floor.

An act that would have once been very beneath him, but with his life on the line it seemed that all of his noble standards were lost.

“Come now, (y/n),” Lorenz pleaded, eyes searching the ground frantically for anything he could use to turn the tides. “It isn’t terribly noble of you to kill an unarmed man.”

You didn’t respond, only tilting your head as you drew your second sword.

Yes, he was technically your friend. But this was war, and now that you were on opposite sides…

You couldn’t afford to be sentimental.

His back hit a wall, and he closed his eyes as you approached.

But then you remembered another time.

_You grimaced, pushing yourself from the ground and examining the new scrapes on your knees._

_At least no one had been around when you tripped and fell._

_“Oh, (y/n), are you quite alright?” A voice behind you only proved the lie you’d just told yourself. “Allow me to help you up.”_

_A hand lowered itself into your field of vision, and you looked at it dubiously for a while before taking it._

_“There is no need to thank me, it is my noble duty after all to help those in need,” Lorenz said, his smile all too charming as his other hand rested on your elbow to help steady you. “But it seems that you are still in need of some help, hm?”_

_You pursed your lips, frowning at him as you wondered what he meant._

_“You have been crying.” He pointed out, his smile fading. “Has that hapless Gautier heir upset you?”_

_You shook your head, almost smiling at his assumption._

_Of course when you were upset everyone had to blame Sylvain._

_Because whenever a girl in the monastery was upset, it was almost always his fault._

_“Then your studies, perhaps?” Lorenz asked, frowning as he tried to determine the problem. “I recall your struggles when you spent that month in our class, if you need assistance I am happy to help.”_

_You shook your head again, this time smiling slightly at his insistence._

_“Well, that simply won’t do.” He said, taking your hand once more and tugging you in the direction of the gardens. “If you cannot regale me with your woes, I must at least attempt to alleviate your sadness for a time. As a noble I cannot allow a delicate maiden such as yourself to wander around the monastery in such a distressed state.” _

You lowered your sword, still keeping it ready in case he struck out but showing him that you didn’t mean to kill him.

He had treated you to a cup of tea that day, and made you smile when you’d thought there wasn’t anything left to smile about.

“Run.” You whispered, taking a step back.

“I beg your pardon?” Lorenz asked, frowning with confusion.

“Run.” You repeated, tilting your head. “You once did something kind for me, and now I am repaying the favour.”

“You… Would trust me not to turn around and stab you in the back instead of running?”

“I trust you not to be stupid enough to try it.” You replied, a knowing smile on your lips as you turned away from your old friend. “I will let you off this time, but do not make the mistake of thinking I will do so again.”

“Of course.” The sound of his scrambling to his feet behind you made you lower your head. “Thank you, (y/n).”

You didn’t reply, merely stepped back into the fray without checking to make sure he made it out alive.

***

“Ah, (y/n), you are as skilled with a sword as ever,” Ferdinand called, his voice barely carrying over the sound of blades clashing together. “Although sometimes I wonder if you were holding back during our academy days.”

“I was.” You confirmed, blocking one more strike from Petra before letting your sword drop to your side and ending the spar. “Is there something you need, Ferdinand?”

“Yes, I was sent by the professor to come find you,” He said, smiling broadly at the two of you. “Apparently she has some tactical decisions to run past you.”

“It is disappointing that we cannot finish our training,” Petra sighed, watching you put your training weapons back. “Perhaps we can continue later? Your strange technique is a great help to my training.”

“I would like that,” You said, smiling brightly as you spoke. “Though I was hoping that next time you would teach me some Brigid fighting styles.”

“Of course!” The princess said, eyes shining brightly as she spoke. “I will be eagerly awaiting our next chance to train together, (y/n).”

You nodded respectfully before turning to the exit of the area and following Ferdinand out.

“So, Ferdinand,” You started, almost smirking when he glanced warily at the dagger you had picked up on your way out of the training area. “Will you accompany me to see the professor?”

“Of course,” He replied. “It would be my honour to escort you, my lady.”

“I have been meaning to ask,” You said after a few moments of silence between you. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“A-avoiding you?”

“Yes.” You sighed, giving him a blank stare as he attempted to avoid your gaze. “I am far more observant than you think I am, and I am definitely a lot faster with a blade so I would choose my next words carefully if I were you.”

It was a low blow, to threaten him when he had only just gained the trust of most of your allies. Being from the Empire, it had been difficult for him and Petra at first, but you and Byleth had done all you could to smooth it over.

After Lorenz had shown up, offering his aid to the cause, it had been much easier to convince everyone of Ferdinand and Petra’s good intentions. Lorenz on the other hand…

“Well, it is just that…” Ferdinand sighed, taking a few moments to gather his thoughts. “Had you not reminded me that I had not lost everything after Edelgard started this war, I would be her puppet right about now. I was hoping to find a good way to thank you for it before properly speaking with you again, but I am afraid that I could not come up with anything. It is rather embarrassing to have failed at such a simple task.”

“Her puppet?” You echoed, tilting your head with a confused frown. “Forgive me, but aren’t puppets controlled with strings? I do not see how Edelgard could have done the same with you…”

“That is… Not what I meant,” He said, trying and failing to not smile. “I meant that I would be following her blindly, not thinking for myself. _You_ reminded me that I am my own person, and my title does not define who I am.”

“I did?”

_Ferdinand had been in an almost catatonic state since choosing to side against Edelgard._

_And also losing his title, contact with his family and all of his family’s land… Yes, that was probably what had left him looking so helpless._

_You had never really spoken to him before, but he had seemed nice. And there wasn’t much to do these days except wait._

_The waiting was the worst part. You knew Edelgard and her armies were on their way, it was just a matter of when. You hated it._

_So you sat down beside the noble, placing your hand on his shoulder and giving him a kind smile. He had, after all, found himself thrown into a classroom of students who he barely knew. You sort of knew the feeling, after all, you were thrown into a whole country full of people you didn’t know._

_And you had been expected to rely on a group of people who you weren’t sure would even like you._

_“Edelgard… Fired my father. She took all of our lands away, stripped us of our nobility.” He sighed, putting his head into his hands. “I have lost everything.”_

_You took your hand away, biting your lip for a moment as you tried to decide what to do._

_“I do not know what to do. Do I fight against her? Or do I return home and beg for a place by her side?” He let out a hollow laugh. “It is strange, I am not used to asking for anything. But without my title I… I feel so lost. Is that strange?”_

_You shook your head._

_“You are a noble, are you not?” He asked finally, brushing his fringe out of his face only for it to fall right back into place. “If you lost your status, would you do anything to regain it?”_

_You frowned, it was certainly an interesting question. But really, the only way you could lose your status at this point was by dying. Or if you failed to dethrone your father and he showed enough mercy to merely exile you…_

_At that point, you wouldn’t really bother trying to get it all back._

_Exile wasn’t so bad, and it was basically your way of paying for your failure._

_So you shook your head again, earning a surprised look from Ferdinand._

_“You mean you would be happy, even without it?” He asked, an incredulous look on his face._

_You shrugged._

_“I suppose the only thing left to do is return home.” He looked down, his hesitation clear on his face. He didn’t want to go home. “Everything I know is there, even if I have nothing now.”_

_You put your hand onto his hand, shaking your head again._

_“You have your life.” You said simply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze._

“Those four words were the only thing that stood between me living my own life and throwing away my very identity for something as frivolous as a title.” Ferdinand’s gaze dropped to the ground as he spoke, and he ran a hand through his now much longer hair. “Were it not for you, I probably would have ended up standing across from you on that bridge as your enemy. I doubt that I did anything back at the academy to warrant you sparing my life like you did for Lorenz, though.”

“That is true," You said, inclining your head in agreement. "But I have found that I am not the same person I used to be.”

“I agree,” He said, opening a door for you. “I almost did not recognise you, or Sylvain for that matter, when I first arrived here.”

“You didn’t?” You asked, frowning as you stepped through the door and strode across the room towards the staircase that would lead you to the cardinals’ room.

“Yes, you used to be so timid, always looking like you expected something to jump out at you from the shadows. And now you are almost an entirely different person, whatever you were afraid of five years ago… It seems that you have conquered that fear.” He mused, leaving the door to shut itself as he moved to catch up with you. “And Sylvain has all but stopped flirting with other women, as if some sort of switch has been flipped in his brain.”

You didn’t reply, just shot him a questioning glance.

“Dorothea put it best, I think.” Ferdinand said carefully, pausing at the stairway. “She saw the two of you at the ball and said that a good dose of love would be good for him.”

“What- I- _Love_?” You sputtered, a thousand different thoughts flying through your brain.

“Well, the two of you seemed awfully close…”

“You’re supposed to stand close together, that’s what dancing is.”

“Not to mention that you are very close even now.”

“We are working together as generals of this army.”

“Generals who can speak to each other without any words,” Ferdinand said softly, putting a hand on your shoulder as the sinking realisation came over you. “Ah, but I should not be the one telling you all of this. Dorothea would have my head if she were here now.”

“Did you ever figure out why she hates you?” You asked quietly, suddenly unable to look at the nobleman standing in front of you.

“No, and now I fear that I never will.” He shook his head, then turned to walk away. “I trust you can find the professor without my help?”

“Yes, thank you Ferdinand.” You said, waving goodbye before you began ascending the staircase.

As you walked your mind whirled, was that why you had felt so lonely when Sylvain wasn’t around? Were you… In love?

You put a hand to your heart, hoping to somehow steady it as you got to the doors to the cardinals’ room. It didn’t matter now, not while there were more important things going on.

Besides, there was no way he would feel the same, anyway.

After all, he had probably just fallen for another of the many masks you chose to wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello, yes, I am not, in fact, dead!
> 
> I have just been playing Xenoblade Chronicles. I picked up the game because my beta reader really likes it and I've been enjoying it a lot so far! Dunno if I'll end up writing anything for it but this is your advance warning that I might do a little something someday. Maybe.
> 
> Anywho... I'm really excited for the next couple of chapters, I just have to drag myself away from Xenoblade long enough to write them. But yes, some plotty things are about to start happening, and I can't wait to share them with you :)


	35. A wound that cannot heal

You sighed, smoothing down your clothes once again as you waited to be allowed into the command tent. You knew this had been a bad idea, and with every suspicious glare you had to suffer through while you waited, you became increasingly frustrated.

And your mood hadn't been helped by the attack from the shadows that you had suffered through on your way here. The Phantom assassin that Byleth had been afraid of hadn't given you any opportunity to see who they were, but you were now sure that there was a traitor amongst the kingdom army, and you needed to return quickly to ascertain who it was. That task would be aided by the blow you had managed to deliver, which was probably the only reason you had managed to get into Alliance territory without sustaining major injuries yourself.

It certainly was strange that you had left in complete secrecy and still been found out. Nobody knew about the plan, save for Gilbert, Byleth, Sylvain and yourself. So who had betrayed you?

Your thoughts immediately turned to Sylvain. He was intensely loyal to the prince, and he would never intentionally do anything to put you in danger but…

Well, there was the key word. _Intentionally_. There was every chance that he had gone and said something to the wrong person at the wrong time, or in the wrong location. The amount of places one could listen in on conversations in the monastery was frankly quite large, and you had always hated just how easy it was to eavesdrop.

“A messenger?” A voice inside said, hushing the debate that had been going on inside for quite some time. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? I suppose I have to do everything myself.”

"I can't believe you let me make a messenger-" Claude himself opened the tent flap, cutting himself off when he saw you. "Wait."

"Claude." You greeted, inclining your head at him.

"Sending one of his generals as a messenger," Claude mused, eyes shining thoughtfully. "His princeliness must be desperate."

"Dimitri didn't send me," You replied, shaking your head slightly. "I have a message from Byleth, for your ears only."

"From Teach? She's alive?" Claude couldn't hide his surprise as he stepped outside of the tent fully, leaving whatever meeting he had been in the middle of in favour of something far more interesting. "Come on, we'll want to talk somewhere quieter. I want to hear everything that's happened."

He didn't let you speak again until you were inside of a different tent near the edge of the encampment. His tent, from the looks of it.

And from the stacks of letters, both unopened and unfinished, you had the feeling that Claude didn't really want to be in charge of the Alliance. It reminded you of all the duties you had ignored just to come to Fòdlan.

"You know, most people would object to your speaking with me here, propriety and all." Claude commented, turning to you with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "But I suppose people in Sreng have a different sense of propriety to us."

"In Sreng a meeting like this would normally end with one of us dead," You replied, having already been told by Sylvain about Claude's knowledge. "Or at the very least injured. And I would appreciate it if you didn't mention my heritage so casually, you never know who could be listening in."

"Worried about spies?"

"I was attacked on my way here, after being so careful that my departure was not common knowledge." You said, crossing your arms as you spoke. "It seems that someone among the Kingdom army does not want us to join forces, and I won't take any chances that the same will be true for your army, too."

"You said that Teach sent you, so would that someone be Dimitri?" Claude asked, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Or is he unable to make decisions at the moment?"

"Dimitri is alive." You sighed, shrugging one shoulder as you continued. "In a sense."

"A sense?" The Grand Duke blinked, a rare look of confusion on his face.

"He is… _Troubled_." You said, pursing your lips as you thought of a way to describe it. "I do not think the man we knew at the academy was anything but a mask he wore to conceal something much darker.”

“It _is_ kind of hard to believe that Dimitri would just snap like that,” Claude agreed, his expression changing into one of concern. “But I’ve heard some… Disturbing rumours recently, and honestly I was hoping you were here to tell me they weren’t true. All those dead imperial soldiers, that was him, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Your gaze dropped to the floor as you spoke, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you might have turned out the same had you not given Sylvain a chance all those years ago. “The professor thinks we can save him somehow. But how do you save a man who doesn’t want to be saved?”

“We can start by keeping him alive,” Claude’s words made you look up once more only to find one of his signature grins. “So, what plan has Teach cooked up for us?”

***

The plan that Byleth had devised went almost perfectly.

Claude and his army played their role perfectly, causing just enough chaos on the battlefield for Edelgard to not notice that the central hill had been claimed, nor did she see the small group of Kingdom soldiers moving around to flank her.

And then she set the central hill on fire.

It had mostly been fliers in that area, with the foot-soldiers having just stepped off when the inferno began. Well, all the foot-soldiers except for Dimitri.

He, of course, would not hear of any plans and instead opted to charge right across the battlefield, taking the most direct course to Edelgard. Naturally any soldier who challenged him was swiftly taken care of, but the fire had been worrisome.

And it had certainly been quite a sight to turn around and see him emerging from the flames, singed and definitely in need of healing. But he barely noticed his injuries, his eye fixed on the command post where Edelgard was standing.

Eventually the Alliance army retreated, as per the plan, and the last of the Empire army were routed, but Edelgard was nowhere to be found.

And then the spy revealed herself, the young girl who had come along with the army a short time ago. She tried to kill Dimitri as he mourned the loss of his chance to kill ‘That Woman’, and Rodrigue…

You sighed, stepping out of the rain as you entered the cathedral once again.

With a scowl, you placed the tray of food down next to yet another half-eaten one. At least Dedue had managed to convince him to start eating _something_. But it was still a waste.

“Why do you come here?”

You looked up at the prince, who had spoken without even turning his head away from the rubble in front of him.

“Were it up to me, I would not.” You replied, picking up the old tray. “But it is not up to me. The professor still insists that you are our leader, and as such we should ensure your health.”

“But why do _you_ come here?” He asked, turning his head in your direction. “Felix has not once come here, and he thinks much the same as you do.”

You paused, staring at him for a while as you thought it over. You weren’t truly from the Kingdom, which meant he wasn’t technically your ruler and thus had no real authority over you. And he was right when he said that you and Felix were of the same mind, but something nagged at you whenever you considered forsaking Dimitri entirely.

“Sylvain.” You said finally, earning a blink of surprise from the prince. “You may not care for anything but revenge, but he still cares about you. I still think you are a fool, but you are not a fool who deserves to die.”

He didn’t respond, and you didn’t bother waiting for one. Instead, you turned and strode down the long-abandoned aisle for a few steps before pausing once more.

“Mercedes has been working tirelessly to bring Rodrigue back from the brink of death, yet you have already come skulking back here and given up on him.” You said, not turning back to look at the blond. “He almost died for you, and still you do nothing but mope about here until an opportunity for revenge presents itself... Perhaps _we_ are the fools for believing that you can do anything but rot away in a dusty old cathedral.”

When you stepped back into the rain, you resolved to never return to that room again.

***

“What are you writing?”

“A letter.” You said, not looking up from the paper as your quill flowed across the page.

“I can see that,” Sylvain replied, squinting at the paper across the table. “But I thought you never learnt to write in Sreng. And that’s definitely not a language I can read, so what is it?”

“You can only read one language.” You commented, dropping your quill into its ink pot and looking up at the redhead. “And I had some free time while I was in the palace, so I asked my brother to teach me.”

“I thought all your siblings wanted to kill you.” He said, reaching for your half-finished letter.

“They do,” You said, swatting his hand away as you picked up your quill again. “But some of them are scholars and have no interest in the throne. My brother and I were close when we were younger, and I suppose we are still close now.”

“You _suppose_? That’s-” He cut himself off, shaking his head with a bemused half-smile. “That’s a lot better than anything I had with Miklan.”

You paused, one hand still holding onto the quill as you reached your free hand to put it on top of one of his own.

“Sorry, guess I brought the mood down, huh?” He said, straightening with a sharp intake of breath.

“Never apologise for speaking of things that hurt you,” You replied, shaking your head softly as you softly squeezed his hand. “It makes you seem more… Real. More human. Right now, we need all the humanity we can muster.”

“You don’t talk about stuff that hurts you.” Sylvain commented, his brows furrowing slightly at the realisation.

“I did not allow things to… To _hurt_. In Sreng, it was simply not done,” You sighed, taking your hand back and continuing to write. “It is a difficult habit to break.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to listen-”

“You will be there.” You finished, looking up long enough to smile before turning your attention back to your letter. “As a matter of fact, I had something I wanted to talk about, but this is the first time alone we have had since… Well, since we agreed to survive this.”

"You're right, we haven't had much time alone,” Sylvain said, stretching his shoulders as he thought it over. “Well, what did you want to talk about?”

“Returning to Faerghus.”

The redhead froze, and you could feel his gaze on you even as you wrote the swirling lines that could turn the tides of the war.

“You… Want to leave?” He asked finally, his hands moving down to rest on the table between you.

“_Want_ is not the correct word,” You replied, signing the paper and returning the quill to its pot once more. “But I have thought about it, and I think we can either die following Dimitri or we can live long enough to see his people freed.”

“We’re not going to die by following Dimitri.” Sylvain snorted.

“We are.” You said, turning your gaze back up to him. “He is dead-set on walking right into Enbarr, which would at least be possible if half of his army were not tied up fighting a civil war on his behalf.”

The redhead didn’t respond, so you calmly laced your fingers together on the table and let out a resigned sigh.

“I do not like the idea of abandoning our friends like this but,” You paused, wishing that you wouldn’t have to continue. “Regardless of whether we fight with them or return to free Fhirdiad, we will need help. Help that I believe I can provide.”

“You don’t just want to go to Faerghus, do you?” He asked quietly, his gaze dropping to the table. “That letter. It’s for your father.”

“I am suggesting that we provide some soldiers to Faerghus in order to further cement peace between us.” You answered, your eyes darting to the words that you knew he couldn’t read. “But receiving that aid would involve telling people who I am. It would be easier to negotiate with your father than with the ghost occupying the cathedral.”

“He’s not a ghost.”

“Then what is he? Because even I know that he isn’t the Dimitri we knew.”

“He’s our friend, and he’s _hurting_.”

“We are all hurting! But you don’t see him coming to help us, do you?” You snapped, slamming your hands on the table as you stood. “All we have to rely on is each other, Sylvain. People are relying on me and I hate that I have to pretend I cannot help when I know that I can.”

“You’re right,” His shoulders slumped and he leant back in his chair, defeat etched in his every action. “But outing yourself like that… It’ll put you in danger.”

“I have always been in danger,” You said softly, plucking the letter off the table and folding it in half. “The last time I was not in danger I was seven or eight of your Fodlan years. I went to bed that night only to wake up and find my own teacher standing over my bed with a knife… I have never felt safe since.”

“You never told me that.” He breathed, lifting his head to look at you with a concerned frown.

“If I told you all the things I have survived, you would never look at me the same way.” You admitted, turning your head away so he wouldn’t see the flash of shame you felt for not wanting his opinion of you to change.

When had his opinion of you come to mean so much?

“But that is not the point.” You shook your head, clearing away the thoughts crowding your brain. “The point is that I have been in danger my whole life. In Sreng that is the way of things, once you turn a certain age you are perpetually in danger.”

Sylvain didn’t respond, just kept that concerned look on his face. It almost looked like… Sympathy? Pity? Whatever it was, it made you antsy and you began to pace so you could avoid seeing it.

“Even here I have been pretending to be someone else because we feared that I would be imprisoned or killed because of my heritage. But I am tired of pretending, and I am tired of holding back and I am _tired_ of waiting for a day when I might be safe!” You turned on one heel, forgetting everything except for the fiery anger that you had been feeling ever since Rodrigue had been carted off to be healed. “The simple fact is that I am Sreng royalty and as such I will always be in danger and I will always be afraid! I let that control me once before but I will never allow that to happen again.”

Again, he didn’t respond. A storm raged in his eyes, the flickering candlelight only aiding in making his gaze seem much more distant than you were used to.

You relaxed, letting out a sigh of defeat and closing your eyes for a moment.

“I do not wish to part with you after promising that we would stick together, but I cannot stay and follow Dimitri any longer,” You said, tiredly rubbing your face before opening your eyes once more. “You said yourself in the Goddess Tower that he might get us killed, or even kill us himself. If I do this… Will you come with me?”

There was a long silence.

The two of you just stared at each other, the room charged with electricity as your words hovered in the air. It was clear that he wanted to go with you, but was torn between your logic and his ties to his friends.

You couldn’t force him to make that choice.

“I can’t abandon them.”

You nodded at his words, resisting the urge to look away. You didn’t want to break your promise so soon, to let him down _again_... But you had to go. You _had_ to find another way.

“I know.” You said softly, holding his gaze despite your every instinct screaming at you to stop.

“I don’t want to lose you again, either.” He frowned, looking as if the entire world had been placed on his shoulders.

_I don’t want to lose you either,_ you thought, finally unable to bear seeing the war going on in his mind.

He knew that you would leave with or without him, knew that it would hurt you just as much as it would hurt him.

But he wasn’t going to make the choice, didn’t _want_ to.

Before you could make it for him, Mercedes popped her head around the door.

“Oh! Sylvain, you’re here too.” She said, smiling softly at the pair of you and completely unaware of the events that had just taken place. “The professor wants to speak with us, his highness is with her.”

Dimitri? You tilted your head, sliding the letter you had written into a pocket inside of your armour as you followed the girl out into the still-pouring rain. Sylvain wasn’t far behind, and he quickly caught up to you, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent but reassuring gesture.

You glanced up at him then looked back down, unable to hold his gaze.

You had snapped at him, yelled even, and asked him to give up on one of his dearest friends… And yet he didn’t hate you for it.

You almost wished that he did.

It would be easier then, when you had to leave.


	36. Familiar

You surveyed the landscape with an uneasy sigh, unable to dispel the feeling of being watched. There weren’t a lot of trees in the Sreng outskirts, but there were enough to make you worry.

Sylvain moved to stand next to you, glancing back at the last member of your group before speaking.

“You know, I always figured this place was inhospitable, but the way we’re sneaking around an empty landscape…” He grinned, nudging you gently. “It doesn’t really bode well.”

“If I was able to sneak into your bedroom in your own house without anyone knowing after having been there for less than a day, then what do you think people who live here will be able to do?” You replied, nodding once you were satisfied that no one was around. Yet.

“You don’t have to remind me how close I came to dying,” Sylvain grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck as he followed you back to the horses. “But really, how safe are we out here?”

You pulled a necklace out from under your armour then swung up onto your horse. 

“We are safe enough,” You said, waiting for Sylvain to be ready before you led the way once more. “While I am still the matriarch of my family line, no one will outright kill us.”

“Is that what that necklace means?” Dimitri asked, his eye glinting with curiosity as he came up to ride next to you.

“Yes,” You replied, still unsure of this new Dimitri. “It is supposed to be worn as a brooch, but I received it at the academy and worried someone might recognise it.”

“Sorry,” the prince chuckled, amazement still in his voice at the revelation of who you were. “I am still getting used to the fact that all this time you were a princess. It makes sense in some ways, but it’s still…”

“Odd.” You finished, giving him a tiny smile.

The joy that flashed in his eye at this one accomplishment of his almost made you smile wider. While you still weren’t sure about him, you somehow felt like this was the closest you would get to the real Dimitri.

_ You shot a confused frown at Sylvain as Dimitri spoke, wondering how he had gone from the shell of a man you had been speaking to in the cathedral earlier to… This._

_He was… Different. Still guilt-ridden and broken but-_

_Alive._

_Yes, that was the word. He was… Much more alive than when you had last seen him._

_Whatever Byleth had said to him, whatever moment had passed between them in the hours since you’d been in the cathedral, it had woken him up. Revived him._

_The redhead didn’t meet your gaze as his prince spoke, but you could see the relief clearly etched in his features. Your heart sank, guilt rising in you as you realised just how close you had come to giving up on the prince, to abandoning him when he had been so much closer to returning than anyone had realised._

_You turned your gaze back to Dimitri just in time to hear him say that he would be turning his efforts to freeing Fhirdiad._

_This time when you glanced at Sylvain, he gave you the smallest, almost imperceptible nod._

_You swallowed, your stomach churning with a mix of anxiety and anticipation._

_You hadn’t been gone for very long, but it was time to return to Sreng once more._

You watched the small fire in the middle of your campsite, not bothering to strain your eyes staring into the darkness looking for enemies. It was easier to simply listen to the sounds of the landscape.

The sounds of small creatures scuttling about in the snow, of trees swaying in the wind, of footsteps coming from nearby.

The sound of someone sitting beside you in the firelight.

You turned your gaze sideways, finding Sylvain staring into the fire too.

"I thought you were going to wake one of us after a few hours," He said softly, careful not to risk waking Dimitri. "You know, so you can get some sleep too."

"You were sleeping soundly," You shrugged, turning your own gaze back to the fire. "And His Highness is sleeping so soundly, I dare not take away the rest he is catching up on."

"Yeah, and we have a big day tomorrow." Sylvain agreed, turning his head to look back at his old friend. "How far is it to the palace now?"

"Not far," You replied, watching the flames dance in the darkness, reaching for more flammable objects to extend its life. "Evreah is just over that ridge, and from there it is only a quick walk through the streets to get to the palace. Though we will take a quieter route normally reserved for guards."

"You're worried about walking down a street?"

"It is by far the most dangerous place for us," you murmured, turning your head to look at Sylvain once more. "Until we reach the palace and you are declared guests of the crown… You will both be targets."

"What about you?" He asked, turning his head to meet your gaze.

The question said it all, even in the face of possibly dying before even getting to ask for the aid that Faerghus so desperately needed… He was still worried about you.

"I am used to it," you said, giving him a small but reassuring smile. "I will be alright. I can take care of myself."

"I don't doubt it," Sylvain chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "But can you take care of yourself when you're busy watching our backs?"

"Maybe not, but I have to try." You reached over, tucking a strand of glowing red hair behind his ear in a gesture of affection that neither of you were used to, but just seemed so natural. "Whatever happens in the palace tomorrow… You must succeed. Promise me you will not give up."

"If I promise not to give up, will you go get some rest and let me take over the watch?" He asked, gently taking hold of your hand. "You're going to need your strength, too."

"Alright." You agreed, squeezing his hand before you stood. "Good night, Sylvain."

_"Before you say anything, I would like to thank you," Dimitri said, making you tilt your head in confusion. "Had you not said what you did… Well, I fear I would still be chasing after ghosts in the cathedral."_

_"What I said was not kind, Dimitri. Nor was it meant to snap you out of it," You admitted, not meeting the questioning gazes of Byleth and Sylvain. "I… I was angry."_

_"You need not apologise, (y/n). I know I have been… Difficult, these past months,” The blond said, ducking his head with embarrassment. “And we were not exactly close back at the academy, I’m honestly surprised that you stayed for as long as you did.”_

_“W-well I-”_

_“What did you need to tell us, (y/n)?” Byleth asked patiently, drawing the attention away from you. “You said you had a suggestion for how we could retake Fhirdiad?”_

_“Yes.” You replied, shaking your head and turning to your former professor. “We can request aid from Sreng.”_

_“From Sreng?” Dimitri asked, frowning with confusion. “(y/n), that’s… Quite a strange suggestion, considering how long we have been feuding with them.”_

_“It is not strange,” You said, shaking your head even as nerves you never thought you’d have made your hands a little jittery. “You may have noticed that there have not been any attacks from Sreng warriors for a little over six years now. That is because of me.”_

_“Because of you?” Byleth arched an eyebrow, placing her hand onto the table next to her._

_“I suppose it is far past time I properly introduced myself,” You said, placing a hand over your heart and bowing. “I am (y/n), first daughter of the third wife of the king of Sreng. I was sent here just over six years ago to wed Sylvain as part of a peace treaty that was negotiated almost ten years ago.”_

_“You… Are a princess of Sreng?" Dimitri asked, pausing for a moment, as if he thought this were a joke and you were about to say _Just Kidding!_"Sylvain, is this-"_

_"It's true, your highness." Sylvain interrupted, pulling a very old piece of parchment out of his jacket and handing it to the prince. "I hated having to lie to you but… My father insisted that we keep her identity a secret until after the marriage."_

_"I can understand lying to the church, or to our friends but-" Dimitri shook his head, clearly trying to make sense of the situation as he read the document. "Why lie to me? I am your prince, your… Your friend."_

_"It wasn't an easy choice," Sylvain sighed, moving forward to put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "But it was lie to you or keep on fighting against the people of Sreng. And there was no point in fighting them! We don't even remember why we started fighting in the first place."_

_"You did what you had to do to ensure the safety of the treaty," Byleth interjected, earning looks of surprise from everyone in the room. "My father mentioned a peace mission the church conducted in Sreng once. The church claimed that the priests were ambushed and killed, but my father said Sreng warriors are honour-bound and that fighting foreign troops like that wasn't their style."_

_The professor looked to you for confirmation._

_"We did not even know of the church until the margrave's envoy arrived in our palace. There is no proper word for it in Sreng." You said softly, crossing your arms at the thought. "And you are correct, underhanded tactics are fine within the palace and cities, among citizens, but when facing an opponent from outside of Sreng we see it as a test of strength. Ambushes are frowned upon, punishable by death in some cases."_

_"My father always thought it was odd, but maybe your fears that the treaty would be in danger weren't unfounded." Byleth mused, frowning thoughtfully. "Do you really think you can convince your father to lend us troops?"_

_"Yes." You nodded, careful to keep a neutral expression so she wouldn't see your doubts. "Sylvain and I can travel there and back easily, we should make it back in time to take Fhirdiad."_

_"I would like to come as well."_

_You looked at Dimitri, who was still looking surprised but had more or less composed himself._

_"You don't have to-"_

_"It is my fight, (y/n)," He said, a vague smile crossing over his face. "What kind of King would I be if I could not even ask for your father's help in person?"_

Sylvain awoke with a start.

And then swore under his breath as he looked up only to find a sword pointed in his general direction.

He risked a glance sideways only to swear again when he realised that (y/n)'s bedroll and bag were gone, along with her horse.

"You are… a terrible watchman." The sword's owner said, her thick accent reminding him of times long ago.

“I close my eyes for two seconds…” The redhead grumbled, running a hand over his face as Dimitri was led to sit next to him. “Uh… Please don’t kill us? We’re here to-”

“To see our ruler.” The woman finished, pulling her sword away from his face. “I am Farrah. I will take you to the palace.”

“Where’s (y/n)?” Sylvain asked, standing at the silent request of his new guide.

Farrah stared at him for a while, her ice-blue eyes studying him and the prince with unmasked disdain.

“My sister is in Evreah, preparing for you.” She finally replied, sheathing her sword and indicating for the pair to follow her. “She told me to give you this.”

Farrah took a shiny red ribbon out of a pouch on her belt and held it out, eyeing it with a hint of confusion. As if she were pondering what use it could possibly have on the battlefield.

It was strange to think that this girl was related to the princess he was supposed to marry. They looked so different and yet… Well, there were a couple small similarities. Especially in the facial expressions department.

Sylvain smiled ever so slightly, and reached out to take the ribbon. His fear for (y/n)’s safety lessened a little at the sight, and his heart fluttered at the thought of her holding onto something so silly for so much time. Had she really liked it _that_ much?

"Sylvain?" Dimitri asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Is that ribbon… Important?"

"Yeah," Sylvain replied, tucking it into one of his pockets with a faint smile. "It means we can trust them."

"Very well then," the prince sighed, clearly unimpressed with the lack of information he was being given. "We had better follow our guide."

It really wasn't that long of a trek to Evreah, and Farrah was careful to lead the pair along paths that would not have them meeting any other citizens. She ushered them through a door in the wall a short way away from the main entrance, which was eerily devoid of life.

They walked through what looked to be a guard station, but was also strangely empty. Farrah grinned back at them, noting the curious expressions on their faces.

"I made sure this room would be empty for you," She explained, opening a door on the other side of the room and shoving a chair in front of it to keep it open while she waited for them to step through. “Until you have entered the throne room, it is unsafe to walk these corridors. Even with me as your guide.”

She removed her drab grey coat before stepping through, revealing a golden version of the armour Sylvain had seen (y/n) wearing recently. He was reminded of her explanation about how children in Sreng were given coloured baby blankets at birth that dictated what sort of life the child would lead… And he wondered what gold meant.

The corridors were quiet, but steadily grew busier as the trio walked through the many side passages and closed off hallways of the palace. Some of the habits and strange tendencies of the princess came to Sylvain’s mind, all of them making more and more sense as he discovered just how easy it was to move through the palace undisturbed.

And once or twice he found himself looking over his shoulder, the feeling of being watched, or perhaps followed, becoming almost too much for him.

_How on earth did she do it?_

Finally they reached the double doors of the throne room, and Farrah pushed them open, escorting the pair to the centre of the room before speaking. Neither the prince nor the future margrave understood a word she said, but they assumed that she was announcing them to the various people lining the edges of the room.

Every last one of them was wearing colourful robes and cloaks, and every last one of them was observing the pair with a disdainful, almost hateful, look on their faces.

Sylvain swallowed thickly, noticing for the first time that the throne was empty.

A voice yelled something from another door nearby, and some whispers went through the crowds in the room as the redhead and the blond continued waiting in the tense silence.

Another yell followed the steady creak of the door in the corner opening, and Farrah repeated what was said in a language that Sylvain and Dimitri could understand.

“Her Royal Majesty, the fourteenth queen of Sreng!” She announced, standing to attention as the subject of her words walked through the door.

Sylvain exchanged a glance with his childhood friend, both of them wondering the same thing. _Wasn’t Sreng ruled by a king?_

And then he looked up, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight.

(y/n) strode across the short distance between the door and the throne, almost unrecognisable in the scarlet, fur-lined robes she had donned. A simple gold circlet glinted from its position atop her brow, the light from a nearby window making it shine brightly.

And as the other occupants of the room bowed deeply moments before she sat upon the throne, there was no mistaking who Farrah had been talking about.

_(y/n) was the Queen of Sreng._

“Tell me Dimitri,” She said, crossing one leg over the other as she sat, gazing at the pair in front of her with unmasked interest. “What makes you worthy of my aid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I've written the entirety of this fic in Comic Sans.


	37. A Queen's Journey

_The Sreng-Fodlan border, Imperial Year 1183_

When you walked into the last rest stop before the border, you found that there was already a fight in progress. Or at least, there was about to be one.

By the time it started though, you had long since taken your drink to a corner with a good view and waited in the shadow of your hood. Not that you were worried anyone would recognise you, this far away from the capital nobody knew what the royals really looked like.

But just in case anyone recognised you from your short visit just over 3 years ago… Well, that was what the strange dye you’d procured from that Fodlan merchant was for. At first the idea of changing your hair colour had seemed ludicrous to you, surely no one would be so blind as to not recognise you because your hair colour had changed.

But then it hit you, no one in Sreng dyed their hair. The idea of your doing so would be far more foreign to them than the idea of bumping into a girl who strongly resembled one of the princesses.

So there you were, hood down, hair a different colour and eyes watching closely as the smaller man deftly swiped a dagger from the belt of his frankly quite burly opponent. You smirked, turning your head down to your drink to hide your expression as the two men faced each other.

The fight was over much sooner than anyone expected. What with the smaller man using his speed and size to disarm his opponent, and of course the bigger man losing a few precious seconds to surprise.

The victor grinned, raising his dagger as his gaze swept around the room.

You pulled your hood down, locking eyes with him at just the right moment for him to go back and do a double-take. You smiled approvingly at him, and nodded slightly.

And that was that. He turned to grab his drink off of the table and strolled across the room, sitting across from you, much to the disappointment of several others in the room. After all, if the winner of a duel chose to sit with you, that could lend something to your reputation.

“That was quite impressive.” You remarked, sitting back in your chair as you regarded him.

“That oaf never stood a chance.” He replied, puffing his chest out proudly as he gave you an appreciative once-over.

“Hm.” You hummed, fingers drumming on the table. “Well, I suppose that means _I_ wouldn’t stand a chance either.”

“You telling me you invited me over here for a fight?” The man’s eyes narrowed, and his gaze strayed to the weapon, or lack thereof, on your hip.

“Well, I certainly didn’t invite you for a pleasant conversation,” You said, resting your head in one hand as you leant on the table. “Besides, what’s the harm? I don’t have a weapon, and you easily beat someone twice your size, it should be easy to take down an unarmed slip of a girl like me.”

You could tell that he was weighing his odds. Of course, if he turned you down now he could potentially suffer a fatal blow to his reputation. Refusing to duel someone as unassuming as you would be seen as cowardice, and you knew he wasn’t about to let anyone think that of him.

You smirked, and he plastered a fake grin onto his face even as his eyes shined with reluctance. You’d snared him in your trap, and even he seemed to have clued in that you weren’t nearly as weak as you’d made yourself look.

“May the best man win.” He said finally, reaching his hand over the table to shake yours.

“Or woman.” You said, shaking his hand once before sliding out of your seat and making sure to keep a good distance from him.

He grimaced at your confidence, apparently realising his mistake just a little too soon. And the fact that you didn’t carry a visible weapon still worried him, which he showed by glancing at where your dagger should have been once more.

Those precious seconds lost him the match.

He was so busy looking at your belt that he missed your dagger falling out of your sleeve. The rest of the fight was a blur, ending with your standing behind him, dagger pressed against his neck as it threatened to draw blood.

“Looks like you got me, fair and square.” The man chuckled, his sword hitting the ground with a clatter.

The silence in the room was thick, every single eye on you as you considered your next course of action.

“Naturally.” You agreed, loosening your grip for just enough time to shove him to the floor.

You stepped over him, walking straight for the empty seat in front of the bartender and sitting. The two seats next to you were quickly vacated, neither of them willing to risk picking a fight with you.

_Cowards_ you thought, huffing with amusement before looking up at the man you’d come here to see.

If your hunch was right, then the bounty on your head was known throughout Sreng. The easiest way to find out who had put it there was to ask. But you had to ask the right person in the right way to ensure that you wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

Hence, your little brawl earlier, the outcome of which had been decided long before it even began.

“So,” You began, meeting the gaze of your next target with a neutral expression. “I understand one of the royals has a bounty on her head.”

“That’s old news,” The bartender scoffed, crossing his arms as he studied you. “‘Sides, what’s a young lady like you want with bounties? Skills like those could land you in the royal family, easy.”

“I prefer to be the reason one looks over their shoulder, rather than doing so myself,” You replied, smiling knowingly. “So tell me about the bounty.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t bother. The king’s best men went out there to get her, none of them returned.”

You almost laughed at his words. If those were his best men, then you really wouldn’t need to be careful. But the fact that they were your _father’s_ best men…

Well, needless to say that worried you.

“They don’t say she’s his favourite for nothing,” You huffed, shrugging a shoulder. “Though I suppose that isn’t the case anymore if he’s sending people after her. Who set the bounty?”

“The king.” The bartender replied, turning away from you just long enough to serve someone nearby a drink.

You stiffened for a moment, forcing yourself to relax as your mind whirled. How had he found out that you didn’t intend to return? You were sure that you had intercepted that letter Sylvain’s father had sent…

Unless-

_Your half-brother_. You never did go back to the monastery to ensure that he was still in the cell you’d left him in. If he’d escaped during Edelgard’s attack and-

You swore under your breath, turning the motion into a whistle as the bartender turned back to you.

“What’d she do to manage that?” You asked, itching to get out of this room already.

It was all well and good for a stray warlord to have found out the plan and put a bounty on your head to stop the peace treaty once and for all. But your _father_... Well, you had seen it coming, but when the king puts a bounty on someone’s head…

_Everyone_ is looking for them.

And you’d just drawn a lot of attention to yourself.

“Depends who you ask.” The bartender said gruffly, studying you more closely now. “Some say she challenged him to a duel and never showed, others say she ran off with a southerner. My guess is she killed someone who she had no business killing. It’s always like that with the royals.”

“I suppose that’s why the king has so many wives,” You joked, standing from your chair and trying not to look too bothered by the conversation. “I appreciate the information, maybe next time I’m here I’ll have a bounty reward with me.”

“‘Course.” The bartender nodded, his eyes on your back the entire way to the door.

As soon as you were outside you pulled up your hood and made your way to where your horse was tethered.

It was far past time you made for the palace.

***

_ The royal palace in Evreah, Sreng capital, Imperial Year 1183_

Farrah was not, in fact, happy to see you.

She glared across the room at you from her sitting position under the covers of her bed. She had dropped her dagger onto her bed-side table as soon as she saw it was you, but was apparently refusing to initiate a conversation.

“You took your time noticing my presence.” You commented, crossing one leg over the other.

“Well, you stopped coming to my room in the dead of night,” Farrah countered, running a hand through her now very short hair. “You’re out of practice, by the way. You used to be able to move across the room without making a sound.”

“Not a lot of opportunities or reasons to sneak into the southerners’ rooms, not that it would be much of a challenge, they all sleep very deeply,” You shrugged, eyeing your half-sister for a long moment before continuing. “You cut your hair.”

“My _brother_ cut my hair,” She corrected, stretching her shoulders. “You changed your hair colour.”

“You should keep it short,” You said, smiling as your half-sister rolled her eyes at your obvious change in topic. “It suits you.”

“(y/n).” Farrah sighed, narrowing her eyes at you as one hand rested on her blanket. “Why are you here?”

“Because there is a bounty on my head,” You replied, shrugging once more. “And no one will think to look for me here.”

“You are placing an awful lot of trust in a delicate friendship with a half-sister you haven’t spoken to for almost four years.” She said, sliding her feet off the bed and onto the floor.

“True, but I know you won’t kill me,” You said, an innocent smile making its way onto your face as she padded across the room and sat in the chair next to yours. “After all, if I wasn’t born _you_ would be father’s favourite. And no one wants to be the favourite child, not really.”

“I suppose you always did have it worse than the rest of us,” Farrah admitted, eyes momentarily clouding with sympathy before they returned to their usual unimpressed look. “But you did not just come here for a safe place to hide… You don’t hide, it’s not in your nature.”

“I do a lot of things that are not ‘in my nature’ these days,” You sighed, gaze drifting to the window you had climbed through just a few minutes earlier before turning back to the woman next to you. “But you’re right, I did not come here to hide. I wanted to know when father would be in the throne room tomorrow.”

“You won’t need to worry about when he’s in the throne room, you know what day it is and you know that he’ll be there all day,” Your half-sister said, eyes narrowing once more. “You came to me because you need to find a way in without anyone trying to kill you, didn’t you?”

“That won’t be a problem,” You said, a hand drifting to the dagger you’d fastened to your belt. “No one will dare attack me.”

“You can’t be serious.” Farrah frowned, searching your face for any signs of a joke.

“I am.” You nodded, standing up from your seat. “He placed a bounty on my head and the only way to truly clear it is…”

“You do want to go back to Fodlan, don’t you?” She snapped, standing as well and immediately making you feel like a child once more. “Because if you do this, you will not be able to.”

“That’s what the seers tell me,” You replied, straightening your shoulders and staring up at your half-sister even as she towered over you. “But someone once told me that the future’s not set in stone. That no one can tell me who I am going to be except for _me_. I am going to do whatever I have to, and no one can convince me otherwise.”

***

_The throne room in Evreah, Sreng Capital, Imperial Year 1183_

The king stared down at you, eyes cold and assessing.

It was a familiar sight, one you had seen so many times in your childhood. You would never had admitted it, but it had frightened you just a little bit to be stared at so intensely. As if he were looking into your soul, and finding you lacking.

But he didn’t scare you now, and the almost-proud smile that graced his features told you that finally, _finally_, he saw your true worth.

“So,” His voice echoed around the room, cleared now of all but those of the royal family. “You have finally returned to us. But I see you do not bear the lance I sent you to retrieve, nor do you have the southerner’s head.”

“The lance is only powerful in the hands of a select few,” You replied, sparing a glance at all the stony faces of your family. Some were familiar, while others weren’t and some were… Missing. “In our hands it would do naught but destroy us.”

“And the boy?” You could tell your father didn’t believe your story, and you dared not show any sign of how Miklan’s transformation had truly affected you.

“The southerners are not nearly as weak as we thought.” You said, voice unwavering even as you knew your admittance would be taken the wrong way.

As weakness.

Even after everything you’d learnt in Fodlan, all the things you had been shown and told by Sylvain… All the times he had reminded you that weakness was nothing to fear, that it was natural and not something to be ashamed of…

You still couldn’t shake the fundamental part of your training, of your very childhood. 

_You can never let anyone best you. Ever._

Your old teacher’s words echoed in your ears long before your father responded, and it all but crowded out the mocking murmurs around the room.

“So you failed to kill him?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh no, I had plenty of opportunities to do as you asked,” You raised your chin defiantly as you spoke, determined not to let the slight shake in your hand deter you from doing what you had come to do. “I _chose_ not to kill him.”

“So you disobeyed me.” Your father said, one hand clenching into a fist as he held tightly onto the rage sparking in his eyes.

“I’m not your assassin, father, and neither is anyone else here. If you want Sylvain dead, you’re going to have to kill him yourself,” You carefully drew your dagger then tossed it, watching it skitter across the floor until it rested just in front of the throne. “To do that, you’re going to have to go through me.”

All the muttering stopped, replaced with a cold and heavy silence. They all knew what you had done, what that dagger meant. And they all knew what the consequences would be.

“Well, father?” You asked, smiling triumphantly as you stared up at his carefully crafted expression of calm. “No one else is game enough to take my challenge, so the only way to ensure my demise is to do it yourself. I’ll see you on the sands in an hour.”

You turned on one heel, not waiting to see if he would pick up the dagger and accept your challenge.

Farrah followed shortly after, grabbing your arm and stopping you in your tracks once you were sufficiently far away from the usual bustle of the palace.

“You truly are stupid,” She huffed, fixing you with a glare that reminded you of your mother. “Father may be getting on in the years, but he is still a skilled warrior!”

“Not for much longer.” You retorted, tugging your arm free from her grasp.

“(y/n), you do not need to do this,” She said, her glare keeping you from walking away. “You could leave now, return to the south and the shame of running from a duel wouldn’t matter.”

“Father would just send more assassins after me, and even if I kill them all that will not stop him!” You replied, running a hand through your hair as you thought it over. “He would just start sending them after Sylvain, after my friends… I cannot protect them all, Farrah! This is the only way.”

“The only person you need worry about protecting is yourself,” Farrah murmured, her hand resting on your shoulder. “Do not lose sight of what you are. A warrior. The only thing you can trust is the weapon in your hand."

"And the only thing I can fear is cowardice." You finished, rolling your eyes. "You know, I think everyone here is afraid, it's why we all carry weapons and awaken at the slightest sound. But not me, not anymore. I refuse to let my fear control me, and I refuse to walk away."

"Your time in the south has made you a sentimental fool," Your half-sister sneered, turning away from you. "You had best hope that father prays for your soul, because I won't."

_He will not have to._ You thought, watching her go for a few moments before you continued on your way.

After a quick stop to your surprisingly untouched room you found yourself in the middle of the arena where the duel would take place. Your old crimson training robes, while designed for intense training and thus very thin, kept you warm as you stood in the arena and waited.

An hour ticked away much quicker than you expected, and you soon found yourself standing across from your father.

He regarded you with a look that dared you to turn and walk away. To leave and never return. You drew your swords instead.

And so the fight began in earnest.

It started with a flurry of exchanged blows, a test of the other fighter’s defenses.

And then the king moved onto the defensive, not attacking, but not providing an opening for you either. You employed every tactic and dirty trick you knew, but he somehow managed to predict your every move, and push you back with a simple flick of the wrist.

Finally, you took a step back, chest heaving as you caught your breath. He had barely broken a sweat. Of course, neither had you, but you knew that if it came down to a battle of wills, or even a battle of stamina… He would win.

An inkling of a plan was forming in your mind, but before you could even begin to act on it, your father closed the distance and began his assault.

At first you blocked his blows as easily as he had blocked yours, but he’d caught you by surprise. And thus, you were slightly off-balance and eventually that led to a searing pain in your cheek that signalled his first blow against you.

He took a step back, and the two of you circled each other.

You grimaced, raising the back of your hand to the cut, and finding blood when you drew it away. You were already _losing_ and the fight had barely been going for a few minutes.

Again, he flew at you, and again you blocked.

But he used a technique you’d never seen before and ended up behind you, kicking one of your knees in and forcing you to kneel moments before a flash of pain flared up on your back.

You gritted your teeth, both hands falling to the ground as your father stood a short way away from you, watching you like a cat watches a mouse.

No, no, _no!_ You couldn’t lose like this.

You couldn’t have come so far just to die now! 

“Yield now,” The king commanded, his voice barely reaching your ears over the cheering of the crowd that had gathered as you fought. “And I will end your life swiftly.”

“And if I don’t?” You spat, swallowing thickly as you raised your gaze to meet his.

“I have already landed two cuts on you without much effort,” He replied, an amused smile on his face. “It is far past time you realised that I know your every move, and I will not hesitate to use that knowledge against you.”

You dropped your gaze again, pretending to think over his proposal in order to buy time. He was right. There was no way you could win, and you weren’t really sure why you’d thought you could.

Perhaps all that stuff the seers had told you as a child had gotten to your head, making you much more confident in your abilities than you should have been.

Or perhaps Fodlan had made you weak after all.

_”You’re amazing, you know that?”_ Sylvain’s voice echoed in your head. _”I know you probably don’t want to be here but… I’m glad I got to meet you. Even if your skills with a sword are a little terrifying.”_

You closed your eyes for a moment, wishing so badly to be back in Fodlan. To be talking to him again. But the only way you could do that now was by winning. And your father had been right, he knew all of your moves. Had supervised your every training session, knew even more about combat than you did-

And then it hit you.

He knew all of your techniques and the extent of your skill with Sreng fighting styles.

_But he had never seen you training to use Fodlan ones._

So you stood, a shaky smile spreading across your face as you realised how you were going to win. The seers _had_ told you that you would master many fighting styles…

And as you twirled one sword and shoved it into the ground so that it stuck, holding the remaining one up in a stance Felix had often favoured, you realised that perhaps they had been giving you the hint you needed to win this duel all along.

“So you choose to die using the southerners’ fighting style?” Your father sneered, taking a measured step towards you. “You’re no daughter of mine. And you will die like the weakling you are!”

He launched himself at you again, but this time you neatly dodged his attack. Without a second sword to block, you were going to have to rely on your reflexes and make use of every clever trick Felix had used against you.

Every time you dodged one of his attacks, your father got angrier, and began to put more force behind his blows. And as you dodged, you managed small cuts and nicks with your single sword, which made him even more angry.

Once you’d decided he was annoyed enough you began exchanging blows once more, going on the offensive with such blinding speed that he was forced onto the defensive. You moved quickly, darting in and out with such efficiency that he simply couldn’t take advantage of any openings.

If he were any other warrior, your ploy would never have worked. And while he wasn’t nearly as frail as he looked, he also wasn’t nearly as fit and quick as he used to be. And your renewed energy had taken him by surprise.

But of course, your sudden win streak had made you overconfident. Even though you were wearing him down, he was still a seasoned fighter and when you took one risk too many... 

He swung his arm back, hitting you square in the temple with the hilt of his sword and you hit the ground. Hard.

Your head was buzzing, and you struggled to pull yourself up. You blinked a few times, but your approaching father had still somehow multiplied into three mildly transparent images. You shook your head a couple times, closing your eyes for a few seconds as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position.

“Once again, your overconfidence stands in the way of your true power,” The king said, pausing an arm’s length away from you. “Pitiful.”

You thought frantically, grasping for any ideas as the world came back into a painfully sharp focus. Something was pressing into your wrist, which was when you remembered that you still had that knife hidden in your sleeve from the border. It had been a few days since then, but you hadn’t felt quite safe enough to take it from its hidden sheath for so long that you’d finally forgotten about it.

But you couldn’t use it. Hidden weapons weren’t forbidden, but they were certainly frowned upon in a bout like this.

And then you let out a breathy laugh, confusing your father for a short moment.

What was it Sylvain had said? That you were smart right up until your honour came into question? That you buried your intelligence under ridiculous rules that you never bothered to question?

Well, perhaps it was time to prove him wrong.

And that moment of confusion was all you needed, really.

The dagger slid out of its sheath, dropping into your hand silently before you drove it forward and into the leg nearest to you.

The rest of the fight was a blur.

A cry of pain, your father lurching forward and creating the perfect opening.

And your sword plunging into his stomach.

The arena went silent, everything did, save for the buzzing in your ears.

The silence seemed to drag on forever, but was broken by the soft thud of a body hitting the floor. You stood, shakily observing what you’d done and knowing that you needed to leave now if you wanted to stand any chance of returning to Fodlan.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

Footsteps sounded behind you, but you didn’t bother to turn around.

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath as you felt the weight of the royal circlet falling gently onto your brow.

And when you opened your eyes again, you were the queen of Sreng.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That... Took me a while.  
Nonetheless, it's finally finished. I actually meant to finish & upload it a couple nights ago but I walked to and from my local shopping centre and in my hubris didn't drink nearly enough water. Dehydration headaches are 0 fun.
> 
> Anyway! I'm alive, and a functional (sort of) human being again, so I finished this off today.


	38. The Weight of a Crown

“Well?”

You put one elbow onto the arm of your throne, resting your head on your hand as you boredly watched Sylvain and Dimitri come to terms with the situation. They had yet to say a word, and the soft murmuring around the room was starting to get louder. Bolder.

Dimitri finally shook himself free of his surprise, his eye glancing around the room momentarily as if to gauge the situation before he spoke.

“Forgive me, (y/n), but…” He paused, searching for the words he wanted. “You said-”

“I never _said_ anything.” You replied, shooting a glare into a particularly loud part of the room. “You all assumed I was a princess of Sreng when I finally revealed myself. But I have not once said that I was one since I returned to fulfill the promise we made five years ago.”

“Why did you lie to us about this?” Sylvain asked, looking neither angry nor sad but nonetheless looking _something_.

“I didn’t. I was not aware that not answering questions that were not asked of me counted as lying. Or did you forget that you did not once ask what happened to me while I was here?” You smiled lazily, not moving from your position as you watched the pair. “Now, I have answered your questions, but you have not answered mine.”

Dimitri didn’t speak, casting another uneasy gaze at all the armed and dangerous people surrounding him. You couldn’t blame him, for all he knew they were talking about the best ways to skin the pair alive.

Finally you sat up, raising a hand.

The room fell into a tense, almost frightened silence. They’d all seen what you had done to the last person to not follow that command, and all were reluctant to have the same done to them.

“_Out. All of you._” You snapped, switching to your native language. “_Farrah, make sure we are not disturbed._”

Sylvain flinched slightly, having never heard you speak any language other than his own. You forced yourself not to look at him, instead focusing on the door and the many officials and siblings who were hurrying out of the room, all of them looking upset that they would not be allowed to be present for this.

You sneered at one person in particular, who had turned back to say something to you but was silenced by the look on your face. It wasn’t as if they would be able to understand what was going on anyway. Farrah was the only person you had trusted to teach the language to, and even she would struggle with some of the more complicated parts of the conversation.

Finally the room emptied, and Farrah closed the door behind her, nodding slowly in your direction as the signal for you to proceed.

“So,” You said, allowing yourself to relax in the familiar company. “Now that we are alone… Why should I help you?”

“Because we’re your friends?” Sylvain suggested, confusion clear on his face as he exchanged a glance with the prince.

“I am also a queen.” You replied, lacing your fingers together in your lap. “I cannot simply do things on a whim, or because I am fond of the person asking me to do it.”

“Then what was the point of our coming out here? Of our conversation the other day?” Sylvain snapped, frustration shining in his eyes as he took a step closer to the throne. “You said you hated pretending to not be able to help when you knew you could! Was all that talk just some twisted game of yours?”

Farrah’s hand strayed to the swords on her waist, but she relaxed again at a wave of your hand. The men in front of you glanced back, suddenly remembering the danger they had their backs to.

“I know what I said, Sylvain.” You said softly, your voice the calm opposite of the redhead’s frustration. “But you must understand that it is my duty to do this properly. So I ask you again… Why should I help you?”

“(y/n), I will not bother trying to pretend that we were friends back at the academy,” Dimitri spoke up, stopping Sylvain from saying whatever was on his mind. “Indeed, it seems that I knew nothing about you, and I’m afraid that I still don’t… So please, do not choose to aid Faerghus on my behalf. I do not deserve it.”

“Oh?” You asked, leaning forward slightly. “If _you_ are undeserving… Then who would I be helping?”

“The people of Faerghus are suffering and dying in a battle that many of them have no part in,” The blond sighed, his head dropping. “Do not help me, but I beg of you to help them.”

You glanced back at Farrah just as she raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced of what you had told her about Fodlan.

“Your people, who hate me and mine?” You asked quietly, earning a sharp look from Sylvain. “Your people, who call us barbarians and call for the royal family of Faerghus to exterminate us? _Your people_, who know nothing of our culture, yet hate us with every fibre of their being?”

“You said you wanted to help them back at the monastery.” Sylvain said, taking yet another step toward you. “So what’s changed? You’ve got a crown on and now everything is different?”

“I am not doing this to be difficult, Sylvain!” You snapped, standing up and fixing him with a calculated glare. “Nor am I doing it because I harbour some secret hatred for you and your family because of our arranged marriage.”

“Then why are you doing it?” He didn’t take another step closer, which you were thankful for.

From your spot at the top of the steps, you were taller than him, and it gave you a power over the conversation that would have been lost if he had come too much closer to you. Right now you needed that power to get your point across.

“I told you once that the ruler of Sreng is not decided by some mystical power, a magical weapon or a bloodline. It is decided simply by strength, that is all.” You said, hands clenching into fists as you forced yourself to stay calm. “As the queen of Sreng, _I_ am the strongest fighter, but there are some who believe that I do not belong on this throne.”

“Don’t belong?” Sylvain echoed, looking bewildered at the very notion. “Have they seen you fight?”

“It is not my skill that is in question, but my honour. To get here I had to use a tactic that, while not expressly forbidden, is frowned upon,” You explained, gaze dropping to the floor. “I am still the ruler, and they will follow my orders but… It is always better received if Farrah agrees with me.”

“Because those who don’t trust you have put their faith in her instead,” Dimitri finished, looking up at you with a new clarity in his eye. “I understand, (y/n). I am not worthy of your aid, and perhaps many citizens of Faerghus are not either, but your very existence is proof enough to me that we can change the way things are! You are living proof that your people and mine can live together, can laugh and build trust together, even fight side by side… But we cannot do that if we do not first end the war El started.”

You were silent for a while, just staring at Dimitri thoughtfully. He was right, you were living proof that the peace treaty could work. That a generations-long feud could be solved here and now with the creation of a friendship that could well and truly stand the test of time.

But… Was a series of ‘maybe’s and ‘could’s really a good reason to risk the lives of your people like that? You spared another glance at Farrah, your eyes conveying a silent question that her own gaze refused to answer. She simply stared back as if to say ‘_This one’s up to you_’, not betraying her opinion for either side of the argument.

“I know that you’re worried about your people,” Sylvain murmured, taking a couple more steps forward so that he could take hold of one of your hands. “But I also know that you’re worried about our friends back in Fodlan. Even if we can’t get an army, I hope you come back with us. We can’t do this without you.”

You looked at your hand in his, wondering how one simple arranged marriage could have become so complicated. And then you looked into his eyes, waiting for some flicker of anger or resentment.

Surely he hated you for hiding something like this? For leading him to believe that it was your father he would have to face, have to convince. Not you.

But there was only sincerity, and a question.

“Very well.” You said finally, for once letting your heart do the deciding. “You have your alliance, Prince Dimitri.”

After a quiet breakfast, filled mostly with tense silences and conversation starters that quickly fell flat, you led the pair through the palace corridors.

Despite the occasional scholar stopping you for your input on something, or Farrah appearing from one of the many corridors to run something past you, the tension between the three of you managed to dissipate.

But still there was Sylvain.

On the outside he seemed fine; he was even joining in the conversation with one of his usual grins. But on the inside… There was a storm brewing in his eyes, something was clearly bothering him about this whole situation.

A hand on your arm forced you to stop pondering things, and you jerked your arm away from whoever had grabbed you only to find the hooded guise of a seer walking beside you.

“Good day, your majesty,” The Seer said, sounding both far away and right beside you. “Your arrival last night was a surprise, and I am afraid we did not get to speak.”

“I had much to prepare,” You replied carefully, glancing at your friends with a look that you hoped would inspire them to stay silent. “And I am afraid that I am busy right now, I can speak with you in the evening.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but your majesty is intending to leave again, and rather soon…” The Seer trailed off, tucking its hands into its sleeves before continuing. “I hope I do not need to remind you-”

“You don’t.” You snapped, stepping forward and into the Seer’s personal space. “I will speak with you this evening.”

The Seer stayed where it was, the shadows under its hood seeming to swirl with a life of their own as you stared into the darkness. You weren’t sure how it had spoken in the language of Fodlan after never even being there, but you supposed that seeing the future was a far more ridiculous notion than their already knowing a language.

Perhaps they had been in Fodlan, once upon a time.

But it seemed that they were not going to be dismissed so easily. Normally when you told them to come back later, they did. This time, the Seer stayed put, apparently unwilling to hold off their newest revelation until later.

You sighed.

“Farrah!” You called, your half-sister rounding the corner just a few moments later at the sound of your voice. “Continue the tour without me, then show His Highness and my fiancé to their rooms, I am sure that they will be ready soon.”

Farrah nodded, gesturing to the pair behind you with one hand and striding down the corridor. You waited until they were gone before you walked in the opposite direction, towards your own rooms.

Once you arrived you were quick to sit on one of the chairs next to the fireplace. Someone had lit the fire for you in advance, probably due to the meddling of another Seer.

_Of course they had known you’d come here_.

“Well?” You asked, resting one of your legs on top of the other. “I hope you are not planning on wasting my time further.”

“Of course not, your majesty,” The Seer said, not even sitting in the chair across from you, instead standing in front of it as if it weren’t even there. “We have seen something new in the future, an… _Extension_ to the original prophecy you were told.”

“An extension?” You asked, unimpressed by the figure in front of you.

“If I may?” A hand reached out, gesturing at your own. 

It was different from the hands you had seen a few minutes ago.

You stood, holding out your hand as you always did. As everyone always did. Palm up, fingers spread out.

“Before I begin,” Came a whisper in your ear. “Perhaps I should remind you of the prophecy you were given before you ascended the throne?”

You didn’t respond, just stared steadily into the writhing shadows of the hood, waiting for something to jump out at you for your blatant disrespect of the taboo against looking into a Seer’s hood for too long.

“Twice now you have left Sreng, and once more shall you do so,” Came another voice, this time on your other shoulder. “After you have left a third time, you will never return.”

***

Dinner was a quiet affair, the three of you and Farrah sitting at the table in the long since unused war room just behind the throne room. It was a far cry from the giant dining room where you had dined with your entire family as a child.

A fire crackled nearby, and Sylvain and Dimitri had apparently found themselves thicker cloaks than they’d had on when they arrived. You and Farrah were used to the chill, but your friends still seemed to have been taken by surprise by it.

Eventually Sylvain retired, Farrah following after him to ensure that he made it to his room safely. You and Dimitri sat in silence for a while, having finished dinner right before Sylvain left.

“Tell me, (y/n),” The prince finally said, breaking the silence. “How did you become Queen of Sreng?”

“I killed the king.” You replied, unfazed by the question. “I told you, Dimitri. The ruler of Sreng is the strongest warrior, and the only way to prove that is to defeat whoever is considered the best warrior at the time.”

“Wasn’t that your father?” He asked, frowning at your answer.

“It was.” You nodded, sitting back in your chair. “But he wasn’t much of a father. Nor was my mother much of a mother. I was mostly raised by my tutors.”

“If it’s worth anything, you turned out well.”

You tilted your head slightly at his words, taking a few moments to study him as you thought it over.

“You haven’t even started to rule Faerghus yet,” You said finally, resting your elbows onto the arms of your chair. “Nor have you seen me ruling. All you have seen so far is me yelling at my subjects and being ordered around by a seer.”

“That reminds me,” Dimitri leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped and resting on the table a second later. “What, exactly, are they?”

“The seers?” You asked, tapping your fingers restlessly on your chair’s armrests. “I am not really sure what to tell you. They are simply beings that have been among us for longer than we can remember. Nobody really knows what they are.”

“And they can see the future?” His eye narrowed thoughtfully.

“Yes, but what they see is not always good,” Your fingers stopped tapping, and you leant forward as well. “Do you know why I trust Farrah so completely? She is my half-sister and naturally a possible competitor for my crown.”

The prince simply nodded, one hand gesturing for you to continue.

“When I was maybe 7 Fodlan years old, Farrah was intensely ambitious. And a good fighter, too. Many members of the court assumed that _she_ would be the next ruler of Sreng,” You explained, resting your elbows on the table. “But the seers put an end to that ambition. They told her she would never be queen, and that was it. She hasn’t knocked off anyone in the family since.”

“Their prophecies are that accurate?” Dimitri blinked, surprise etched onto his features as he took it all in.

“That is what everyone tells me,” You sighed, dropping your gaze to the table. “But I am beginning to think otherwise. The seers can lie, though why they do is beyond me.”

“If you find out that Farrah could become queen,” He started, pausing as he carefully considered his next words. “Would you tell her?”

“I don’t know,” You admitted, keeping your gaze fixed on the table. On the empty plate in front of you. “Truth be told, I rely on her. She is older and more experienced than me, and has sway with people that I cannot control. If I were to tell her… There’s no telling if she would challenge me for the throne.”

“Would you be able to beat her in a duel?”

“I don’t know. I almost didn’t beat my father.”

“Then perhaps telling her wouldn’t be a good idea, provided the seers lied, of course.”

“Why not?”

“As I understand it, if she wins, you die.”

“If I am to die, then you’d better hope Farrah is the one who ascends the throne,” You said, lifting your gaze to meet Dimitri’s. “She is the only other person in the palace who has any interest in a treaty with Fodlan. I have seen more than enough death, Dimitri, I do not wish for more of my people to die in a pointless war that no one can remember the reason behind.”

“And Sylvain?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. “How would he cope being paired off with another stranger from another land?”

“He does not have to cope,” You replied, running a hand through your hair. “Sylvain and I were not married before my father died, so that particular contract was dissolved upon his death. It is only by my whim that we have not gone back to war with Fodlan.”

“So you _did_ lie.” An amused smile crossed his features, the first you’d seen in a long time.

“I told you once that the dead’s bargains are upheld only by the whim of the living,” You murmured, a small half-smile on your face. “I upheld my father’s bargain, and now I can leave it to rest in favour of a different one.”

“Have you told Sylvain?”

You paused at his words, mulling it over with a quiet, thoughtful hum.

“Not yet,” You said finally, standing up from your chair. “It is getting late, you need to rest. Come, I will show you the way back to your rooms.”

He looked like he was about to argue, but wisely decided not to upon seeing the look on your face.

“Of course.” Dimitri sighed, standing as well.

It was strange, to have him towering over you as you walked side-by-side down the many corridors and hallways of the palace. Sure, he had been _tall_ back at the academy, but now he was somehow much taller. And more burly.

Neither of you spoke until you reached the door to his rooms, and you would have gone without even bidding him good night had he not paused in his doorway.

“I know I have not given you much reason to,” He murmured, his voice barely carrying the short distance to you. “But I hope that in time I will be able to gain your trust.”

“Perhaps, some day, you will.” You whispered, turning away from the prince in order to walk back down the corridor.

But the seer’s earlier words haunted your every step, and you somehow knew that the prince would never have enough time to regain your trust. After you left with your armies, this time, you would never return to Sreng.

To you, that had meant only one thing:

Before the war in Fodlan ended, you would die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some meanings of the colour gold (Farrah's colour): Love, Courage, Wisdom, Wealth & Prosperity.   
It is a warm colour and can be bright and cheerful or somber and traditional.


	39. An Endless Army

“Sylvain may I-”

You paused in the doorway, narrowing your eyes at the seer whose hands were mere millimetres away from Sylvain’s outstretched palm.

“Your majesty.” The seer greeted, withdrawing from the redhead under your icy stare.

“I will remind you that I said they were off limits,” You replied, opening the door and stepping aside, gesturing for the seer to leave. “Out.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Apologies, master Gautier,” The seer bowed deeply before walking towards the door. “But here, Her Majesty’s word is law.”

“Right. Of course.” Sylvain grumbled, scratching the back of his head as the seer retreated and you shut the door behind him.

“The only people you should let in here are myself and Farrah,” You said, still holding onto the door handle as you spoke. “If that had not truly been a seer-”

“I know-”

“I’m beginning to think you don’t,” You snapped, walking right up to him and jabbing his chest with one finger. “You are under my protection so long as you are here, but that protection means nothing if you freely allow untrustworthy people in here.”

“And seers are untrustworthy?” He asked, shoving your hand away with an annoyed huff.

“You once told me to forget what the seers told me, that no one could tell me who I was going to be except for me,” You replied, crossing your arms. “And now you want a seer to tell you your future? They are _dangerous_, Sylvain.”

“You let them near you all the time!” He snapped, throwing his hands into the air.

“I do not _let_ them do anything!” You yelled, uncrossing your arms only for them to fall to your sides, hands balling into fists. “They do as they please. As they are not technically my subjects, they follow my orders out of courtesy.”

You glared at him for a long moment, waiting for his snarky reply. But that reply never came, and you realised in that moment that he probably thought you were going to say something more, or even storm out.

The two of you had argued like this before, even refused to speak to each other for a few days, but this time was somehow different. You got the impression that he wasn’t really mad about this, but about something else.

And you weren’t about to find out what he was really upset about by continuing this silly argument. Besides, you had a feeling you already knew what was bothering him.

You sighed, burying your head in your hands as you realised how far this whole situation had spiralled out of control.

“This is not what I came to speak with you about,” You muttered, closing your eyes and wishing you could start the day again. “I should not have gotten so upset with you, I’m sorry.”

The tension in the room deflated, and Sylvain let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” He replied, hands moving to your own so he could gently pull them from your face. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Our arranged marriage,” You said, shaking your head to clear it of the argument from just a few moments before. “We don’t have to do it.”

“We… Don’t?” Sylvain frowned, still holding onto your hands.

“When my father died, all of his unfulfilled promises, bargains and deals became null and void,” You explained, gently squeezing his hands. “I was willing to uphold the conditions of the treaty, even though the deal was not made by me but… With the new agreement that Dimitri and I have signed, our marriage is not necessary to seal peace anymore. You’re free.”

“Right. Free.” The redhead released your hands, taking the opportunity to sit down.

“I thought you would be happy…” You started, hesitantly reaching out to put your hand on his shoulder, but pulling away at the last second. “You are not shackled to me anymore.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, running a hand through his hair before he smiled up at you. “And I _am_ happy, it’s just-”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever he had been about to say.

“(y/n)?” Farrah’s voice called. “Everything is prepared for your departure.”

“Thank you Farrah!” You called back, striding for the door and opening it to find her and Dimitri waiting nearby. “Sylvain, are you ready?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” Sylvain replied, grabbing a shoulder bag from his chair before hastily exiting the room.

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was avoiding your gaze.

Something was wrong, and you weren’t sure you knew how to fix it.

***

Sylvain’s mind was whirling.

This whole situation was a crazy mess, from finding out that the girl he’d been betrothed to all this time had gone and become the queen of Sreng to finding out that they hadn’t _really_ been betrothed for at least a few years.

And then, what was it she had said again? She thought he would be _happy_?

How could he be?

To be strung along and promised to some girl he barely knew. To be forced to spend all his time making sure she was safe and that no one found out who she was. To finally realise just how much he really cared about her, only to be thrown away when a better way of keeping the peace came along.

To make a promise with her and listen to her break it so easily, as if she had forgotten all about it.

But then again…

She’d also said that he didn’t have to be shackled to her anymore.

_Shackled_.

As if she thought he’d resented her for this whole business. But he couldn’t, not really. Even now, he wasn’t sure he did.

He wasn’t sure of anything.

A horse trotted up beside his, and he turned his head to find the very source of his tangled emotions. (y/n).

“You have been strangely quiet.” She said, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I didn’t even get a real reaction from the sight of my army as we crested the hill.”

Right. _Her army_.

She’d been content to marry him until she got a crown. And an army.

Had he really been so blind to think that she could have fallen for him as hard as he’d fallen for her?

“Well, I was kind of surprised you managed to get an army mustered together so quickly,” He replied, turning on the charm so she wouldn’t notice how hurt he felt. “I guess I was expecting it to take a bit longer.”

“We are warriors, Sylvain,” (y/n) glanced back at the many horses and their soldiers trailing behind the pair. “Always ready for battle, and always waiting for the crown to call for our strength.”

“Just how big of an army do you have?” Sylvain asked, raising an eyebrow at her as she turned back to look at him.

“How big of an army do you want?” She asked in return, lips curving into a feline smile. “Sreng is a big place, and every last able-bodied person in it has been trained for war. If I truly wanted to, I could clean out the whole country and take them to war.”

“So this isn’t even half of it?” He mused, realising that without the hero’s relics, Fodlan would have been taken over a long time ago.

“Of course not.” She laughed, turning back to train her eyes on the horizon. “I just hope that it’s enough.”

“It looks like a lot more than the professor asked for.”

“People die in war.”

“We’ll make do,” Sylvain soothed, studying her blank expression and the faraway look in her eyes. “The professor’s one hell of a strategist, she’d probably find a way to take Fhirdiad by herself if she had to.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t have to,” (y/n) muttered, turning back to face him with a small smile. “I am glad that you are speaking to me again. After that bombshell this morning I knew you would be… Upset.”

He blinked. How had she known he was upset?

“We have spent a good deal of time together,” She said, answering the question in his mind. “I know when you are faking it.”

“How is it that you can still manage to find a way to surprise me, even now?” He asked, a breathless laugh escaping his lips before his smile fell. “Seems like I can’t do anything to surprise _you_ anymore.”

“You surprise me all the time,” She replied, a confused frown settling over her features. “Even now, I-”

She cut herself off, shoulders slumping as she sighed.

“You are leaving with Dimitri to rejoin the main force soon, yes?” She asked finally, straightening her shoulders and regaining her composure easily.

Sylvain idly wondered how much of her personality was real, and how much had been manufactured to suit her situation. To suit _him_.

In another lifetime, she could have been an excellent actress. If their lives had been different, if he’d been just a normal man and if she had been an actress on stage… Would she have fallen for him then?

Would he have fallen for her?

“Yeah, the professor’s plan requires both of us to be there when the attack begins.” He finally answered, tucking a fiery red lock of hair behind his ear.

To think that just a couple days ago, (y/n) had done the same for him. Back then, he’d really believed that she was different from all the girls whose hearts he’d broken over the years. Back then he’d believed that he had a chance.

“Well, try not to get yourself into any trouble on the battlefield until I arrive,” She said, tugging the reins of her horse in the direction of the rest of her army. “I cannot perform a daring rescue if I am not there!”

“Just don’t get lost on your way there!” He called, earning a knowing smile from the queen.

As she and her horse retreated back to the main force all he could do was wish he’d decided to stay.

Yes, he had definitely fallen hard for that woman.

The question was:

Did he really want to keep falling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently it was the 1-year anniversary of Three Houses the other day. I meant to finish this and put it up on that day to celebrate but I uh... I spent that day playing Xenoblade Chronicles. Oops. (In my defense the plot was seriously thickening and I couldn't put it down)
> 
> Anyway, shorter chapter this time, but the next will be longer!


	40. The Fall of a Dukedom

It was almost funny that Cornelia had thought she’d won.

She’d surrounded the main force of Faerghus troops, effectively cutting Dimitri, Byleth and the others from the rest of the army. Just as intended.

In doing so, she had risked a good deal of her own troops, and even put herself into a very bad position should any reinforcements come from the North.

A fact the former court mage only realised when you and your army crested the hill just North of the capital, and thousands of Sreng warriors joined the fray.

It wasn’t a very long battle after that, as most of the soldiers under the Dukedom’s flag weren’t trained to fight you and your people. Why should they be, when the Lance of Ruin and the Gautier family had done so well to keep them at bay all these years?

This would be an eye-opener for many of the people you’d befriended at the academy, one that you were sure Sylvain had already had. You probably shouldn’t have, but after years of hearing about losses on the Fodlan border… There was a sort of satisfaction to finally winning against Faerghus troops.

But still, you didn’t want the battle to end. As soon as it did, you would have to face all of your friends, who would surely look at you differently now that your true identity had been spread across the army by now. Your friends, who would probably be afraid of you now that they had seen just how talented Sreng warriors truly were.

None of that happened right after the battle was over.

Dimitri, Byleth, Rodrigue and Gilbert met you just inside the doors to the castle, the prince thanking you profusely for your aid.

While Byleth did not have much to say, her eyes sparkled with gratitude.

Rodrigue had clapped you on the back, saying something about arriving just in time.

And Gilbert…

He was still suspicious of you, that much was clear. Yet his many years as a knight had drilled politeness into him, and he’d stiffly thanked you. By the time you were able to really get a word in edgewise, you had all reached the doors to a balcony overlooking Fhirdiad.

Dimitri paused, looking at the door with a good deal of reluctance.

“Are you well?” You asked, glancing at the open doors and the light shining through them at just the right angle so that you couldn’t see anything outside.

A crowd was forming outside. It had to be, for that much cheering and noise to have reached the room by now.

“Your people long to see you, your highness.” Gilbert added.

“I am not sure I deserve their affections, Gilbert.” Dimitri breathed, still clutching his bloody lance as if it were a lifeline. “Professor, perhaps you and (y/n) should take my place. Were it not for the two of you, this wouldn’t be possible.”

He turned on one heel as he made his suggestion, aiming for the nearest exit. You stepped in front of him, your hands resting on the daggers on your belt.

“(y/n)?” The prince asked, gaze flickering to your hands before moving back to your face.

“Do you think I challenged my father for the throne because I thought I deserved it?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him. “Or even because I _wanted_ it?”

“What are you trying to say?” Dimitri stepped back, your quiet anger becoming too much for him to handle.

“We are royalty, Dimitri. We don’t get to decide what we deserve, or even what we want. We were born with duties and burdens that cannot be thrown away by a guilty conscience.” You said, lifting your chin as you channelled every last bit of your regal bearing. “I became queen of Sreng to protect those that I care about. If you care even the slightest bit for your friends and your people, you will walk this path and become the king of Faerghus.”

“You’re right.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping as his grip on his lance loosened a little. “But… How can I hope to lead them after everything I have done? With all the blood on my hands-”

“I have more blood on my hands than you could possibly imagine, but I am still a capable leader!” You snapped, cutting him off with a sharp tone that made even Byleth wince. “It will not be easy, but you are the only one who can rally the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus behind one standard. Now, straighten your shoulders and get out there.”

With one final glance at the daggers at your waist, and then at the door behind you, he straightened his shoulders and turned back, this time opening the door and stepping into the light. You heard the cheers grow louder and more enthusiastic at the sight of the prince, and you crossed your arms, a smile ghosting across your features. Rodrigue followed after him, but not before shooting you a grateful look.

“I’m impressed, your majesty.” Gilbert commented, standing on one side of you while Byleth took a place on the other. “If all Sreng warriors are anything like you, then perhaps peace is possible.”

“It’s hard to believe that you’re the same girl I taught five years ago. I’m proud of how far you’ve come,” Byleth agreed, a proud glimmer in her eyes. “But I _am_ worried about him…”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” You mused, quoting something your father’s first wife had said to you a long time ago. “But heavier still is the heart that allows itself to be weighed down by guilt.”

The pair looked at you then, frowning with a mix of both confusion and understanding.

“I had better be going,” You said, shaking yourself out of your reverie and turning away from Dimitri as he took in the cheers of his people. “I expect Farrah will have a report for me.”

***

“Sylvain was looking for you earlier.”

You glanced up from the report one of your tacticians had given you, raising an eyebrow at Farrah’s comment. She spoke in the language of Fodlan, clearly deciding that this was a conversation she did not want any of your warriors to overhear.

“When I told him you were speaking to the prince he seemed…” She paused, tapping her chin as she thought. “Deflated.”

“Whatever he wanted must not have been important.” You snorted, looking back down at the page you were holding.

There had been fewer losses than you expected, but then again, Byleth always did have a knack for ensuring that as many people survived as possible.

“I do not see why you like him,” Farrah said, crossing the space and dropping into the chair across from you. “He’s a good warrior, yes, but his emotions seem to get the better of him.”

“And that is a bad thing?” You hummed, meeting your half-sister’s eyes over the top of your papers.

“The fact that you don’t see it as a bad thing worries me,” She replied, tilting her head as she studied you. “Sometimes I wonder what happened to the girl that poisoned her brother at the age of nine.”

You didn’t reply, instead trying vainly to focus on the reports. She was right, and you both knew it. You’d changed.

But you didn’t want to believe that the change was bad. That Sylvain and the others had made you weak. But it was true that they had, even if they hadn’t meant to. Anyone who wanted to get to you could do it by attacking _them_, and deep down you wished that you hadn’t allowed such an obvious weakness to develop.

“Why are we even doing this?”

You looked up, dropping the reports onto your lap as you decided that you weren’t going to be concentrating on them very easily.

“Doing what?” You asked, watching Farrah stand from her chair and begin pacing.

“_This_.” She said, gesturing vaguely with one arm. “Fighting the southerners’ war for them.”

“It will become our war if Edelgard is triumphant here and decides Sreng is an easy target,” You replied, lacing your fingers together in your lap. “And if she is, there will be more than _one_ of those weapons to contend with.”

“Why didn’t you just steal the Lance of Death like you were told to?” Your half-sister sighed, turning to you and putting her hands on her hips. “What happened here? What did you see that made you go against father’s orders?”

“You have seen the flashes of light that came from some of the generals in that last battle?” You asked, only proceeding once Farrah nodded. “They’re called Crests. With one of those the relics allow the wielder to possess a terrible power. Without one, they possess the wielder, forcing them to _become_ a terrible power. A beast. They have no mind, no concept of friend or foe. We would have lost more than we saved.”

“A beast?” Farrah laughed, shaking her head. “Surely you are joking.”

“This is nothing to joke about.” You said quietly, your tone turning dangerous and effectively shutting her up. “Edelgard uses something akin to the beast I saw five years ago. We will meet many more of them before this is done, and then you will understand.”

“I hope I never get to meet whatever beast could scare you more than father’s wrath,” She breathed, dropping her gaze to the floor. “But it couldn’t have just been the sight of the beast that frightened you, I know you are stronger than that.”

“Sylvain has an older brother,” You sighed, making your half-sister look up in surprise. “He was born without a Crest, so his father disowned him, much like our father exiled his fifth wife and all her children.”

“How does this relate to the beast?” She asked quietly, moving back to her chair and sitting down.

“The brother, Miklan, stole the Lance of Ruin and we were sent to retrieve it,” You explained, leaning back in your chair. “He attempted to use the lance and turned into that… That _thing_. I have never seen Sylvain look so broken as he did the moment we realised that the process had killed Miklan.”

“You truly care about him, don’t you?”

“I don’t-”

“Do not lie to me, you look at him the way father used to look at my mother.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“It doesn’t?”

“He cannot return to Sreng with me.”

“He could-”

“It cannot happen!” You interrupted Farrah, sweeping up your papers with one hand and shoving them onto a nearby table. “...I will not be returning to Sreng at the end of all this, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” She leant forward, frowning with concern.

“Before I returned, the seers told me I would leave Sreng three times,” You sighed, rubbing your forehead with your left hand. “After the third time, I would not return. I can only take that to mean that I will die in this war.”

Farrah frowned, looking as if she was deciding whether or not to say something. You raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“That could be soon.” She said finally.

“I know.”

“After all, the solstice is coming up-”

“I know.”

“They will be expecting you to-”

“I _know_.”

“I wish you would not smile like that when we speak of these things,” She sighed, shaking her head at you. “If you lose even a single one of those fights-”

“The war will start again,” You finished, crossing your arms. “Unless you wrest control back from whoever defeats me.”

“You know I cannot do that.” Farrah replied, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. “You cannot die out there. I am the only person who would honour your alliance with the southerners, but I will never have the crown. Perhaps when the seers said that you would not return, they did not mean that you would die.”

“What else could it mean?” You arched an eyebrow as you spoke.

“It could mean that you choose to stay here in the south.” Farrah pointed out, though she looked like she hadn’t wanted to do so.

“Why would I do that?” You asked, shaking your head.

“He looks at you like you are his whole world, (y/n),” She said gently, making you remove the hand from your face as you shot her a confused frown. “Surely you have noticed.”

“I wish you wouldn’t make things up, Farrah,” You breathed, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. “He doesn’t-”

A rustle sounded just outside the flap of the tent, and the two of you stood, quickly drawing daggers as you turned to face the direction of the noise.

“Show yourself!” You commanded, repeating the command in your native tongue just in case it was one of your own.

“Ouch, sorry,” Sylvain muttered, stumbling through the flap of the tent as he rubbed his arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you two, guess I tripped on one of the pegs or something.”

“Sylvain,” You said, relaxing your shoulders and slowly lowering your dagger. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Uh, none of it?” He frowned, scratching the back of his head for a moment before continuing. “I was a bit busy tripping over that peg, and besides, you two were speaking in your native language, yeah?”

You and Farrah exchanged a look.

It was difficult to tell with Sylvain. Sometimes you saw through his lies easily, and others… Well, he was a far more experienced liar than you could ever have imagined. He probably could have convinced you that he was the prince of Faerghus and you wouldn’t have questioned it until Dimitri set it straight.

But this time it seemed genuine. He probably had assumed that he wouldn’t understand any conversation going on around him and was filtering it all out. That was good, then, the end of that conversation was not something you wanted him to have heard.

“What can I do for you?” You asked finally, giving him a tiny smile as you tried to alleviate your fears.

“I have duties elsewhere,” Farrah said, bowing before she promptly turned and made her way past Sylvain to the exit. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You almost wanted to order her to stay, just so that you wouldn’t be alone with Sylvain in case he _had_ overheard some of the conversation and wanted to ask you about it. But you knew that in doing so, he would think you didn’t want to be alone with him, or even that you were avoiding him. So you kept your mouth shut, simply nodding before you turned your attention back to your new guest.

He glanced over his shoulder uneasily, wringing his hands as he turned his gaze back to you. After a few moments of tense silence, you gestured for him to say his piece, which seemed to snap him out of his strange mood.

“We’re organising a celebration in the palace tonight, His Highness wanted to invite you,” Sylvain explained, smiling slightly. “And of course, Farrah is invited, too. The soldiers are all organising a party of their own if the barrels of wine and large amounts of food are anything to go by.”

“I imagine Farrah will spend the evening with her squad, she trained them herself and they like to spar as a celebration,” You replied, feeling a pang of loneliness at the realisation that if you left Sreng for good, she would not miss you as much as you would miss her. “I will of course attend, but are we sure that a large-scale celebration is the right course of action? We have merely won one battle, not the whole war.”

“To some of the people in Fhirdiad, this battle _was_ the whole war,” The redhead pointed out, brushing some hair out of his face. “Not to mention they have their prince back now, that’s something worth celebrating. Besides, us southerners can find a reason to celebrate nearly anything. Remember when I asked about your birthday?”

You pursed your lips at his use of the term ‘southerner’. Perhaps he _had_ overheard something. Was he mad at Farrah’s refusal to call them anything else? Or was he upset because of something else he had heard…?

You wished he would just up and say whatever was on his mind. It would be far more preferable to whatever he was trying to do at the moment.

“Yes,” You answered, forcing a light smile onto your face. “You gave me that ribbon back at the academy, and Ingrid helped me find your favourite tea when your birthday came around the year after… You never gave that ribbon back, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I didn't, huh?” Sylvain said, scratching the back of his neck in his embarrassment. “Sorry, I don’t have it with me right now, left it in my saddle bags. I can go get it if you-”

“No.” You laughed softly, holding up a hand for him. “You can return it at the celebration tonight, yes?”

“Of course,” He smiled, his nerves seeming to disappear as he did so. “Well, I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Oh, uh, Sylvain?” You asked, earning a questioning look from him. “I have some tea if you wanted to stay a while. It’s not your favourite kind, of course, but I find it soothing after a battle.”

“Sorry, but I can’t right now,” He grimaced, standing awkwardly near the exit as he spoke. “I promised Ingrid I’d help with the preparations, she’ll kill me if I’m late.”

“Of course,” You said, looking down at the ground as you tried to think of a way to not sound too disappointed. “I just remembered that Farrah brought me some reports, so I had better get those out of the way.”

“Right, well, I’ll… I’ll leave you to it,” Sylvain said, giving you one last smile as he prepared to leave. “Bye.”

“Goodbye.” You whispered, waiting until after he’d left to sit back in your chair with a heavy sigh.

It seemed that he had already gotten used to your not being around. So you really had been a burden, then. Someone he cared about because he thought he had no other choice.

If you somehow managed to return to Sreng despite the seer’s words, or maybe even if you died in the war and never made it home…

Sylvain would be just fine without you around.

And that realisation hurt far more than you would ever admit.


	41. Chapter 41

The celebration Sylvain had told you about was quieter than you expected, but still reasonably lively. Throughout most of the affair, you’d stayed quiet, hoping to return to your command tent and finish off the report you had been preparing for Byleth before you left.

You were mostly here out of politeness, not wanting to turn down an invitation from the prince so soon after creating an alliance with him. Then again, no one had really seemed all that bothered by your presence, and it was strange to you that they weren’t surprised to find out who you truly were.

Maybe you hadn’t hidden it as well as you thought you had.

Or maybe you’d long since ceased to surprise them.

You’d been considering getting up and leaving shortly after the feast had finished, and everyone was simply talking amongst themselves. Sylvain had, after all, left almost as soon as the meal was over, and hadn’t shown any signs of coming back. But moments before you could stand and excuse yourself, a quiet note played behind the doors a little way behind you, and you frowned.

“Is that…” You paused, turning to look at the doors just as Sylvain shoved them open and strode into the room. “Music?”

“Sure is,” Sylvain agreed, his arm resting on the back of your chair as he stopped beside you. “I hope you can spare me a dance, your majesty.”

“Don’t call me that,” You sighed, standing up and turning to look at him with a slight smile. “I might just forget my own name, you know.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” He agreed, grinning as he held out a hand for you. “Now, about that dance…”

“I told you five years ago,” You replied, crossing your arms. “I am not good at dancing.”

“And _I_ told _you_ five years ago,” He wriggled the fingers of his outstretched hand as he spoke. “Just let me guide you through it.”

“Alright,” You relented, taking the redhead’s hand in one of your own and following him towards the doors where the music was coming from. “But you still haven’t returned that ribbon that I asked you for.”

“Ah, of course, where are my manners?” Sylvain replied, using his free hand to rummage through an inside pocket of his coat, eventually producing the ribbon for you. “Here.”

“Thank you.” You murmured, gently taking the ribbon from him and taking a moment to examine it with a fond smile before you tucked it into a pocket of your own coat.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Dimitri slipping out a side door, and a strange sense of déjà vu washed over you. Hadn’t he done the same thing on the night of the ball back at the academy?

Right on cue, Byleth noticed his departure and began following after, soon disappearing into the crowd and no doubt on her way to coax Dimitri back to the party.

“Sorry I didn’t come talk to you earlier,” He said, sweeping you onto the dance floor and putting one hand on your waist. “Truth be told, I was a little scared. It’s just that tonight you look…”

“The same as I always do,” You finished, frowning in confusion. “I have not even changed my clothes since we spoke a few hours ago.”

“That’s just the thing,” He murmured, slowly stepping through a dance you vaguely remembered how to do. “You always look breathtaking, sometimes I have to remind myself to breathe when I’m around you.”

You frowned, working over his comment in your head as you fumbled a step and forced him to stop so he could steady you.

“Hey, you OK there? You were doing fine until-” He cut himself off, waiting a few beats before leading you back into the dance. “Did I… Say something wrong?”

“No, not wrong,” You shook your head, still amazed at how easily you fell back into the steps of a dance you hadn’t done in five years. “Just… Strange.”

“Strange good, or strange bad?” His question caught you off guard.

How could strange be good or bad? As far as you were aware, adjectives weren’t sentient and therefore couldn’t have morals.

“I am not sure,” You replied, smiling knowingly after a moment. “But I _do_ know that you have had something to drink over dinner.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” He laughed, shaking his head with a surprised look in his eyes. “How’d you know?”

“You would not be saying things like that to me if you hadn’t.” You whispered, seeing a flash of hurt in his gaze before you averted your gaze.

You’d had something too, but not a lot. You preferred to keep your senses sharp and you couldn’t do that with too many glasses of wine over dinner.

Most of your family hadn’t had much of a taste for alcohol either. And those who did often met a swift end after one glass too many. Or in one case, several glasses too many.

“Probably not,” Sylvain breathed, drawing your gaze back to him. “But hey, it’s a celebration, we got Fhirdiad back. And besides, we’re not kids anymore.”

“We were not kids when we first met, either,” You pointed out, turning your head at the sound of a door slamming shut. “It is easy to forget sometimes, that we are older than our classmates. Not by much, but still…”

Whatever the redhead said in response was lost on you as Dimitri and Byleth hurriedly strode through the ballroom, a messenger not far behind. They were talking quietly but with serious looks on their faces that told you something was horribly wrong.

You wordlessly untangled from Sylvain’s arms, heading straight for the pair and quickly taking a spot at Byleth’s side just as she exited the ballroom.

“What’s happened?” You asked, looking between the pair and then at the messenger behind you.

“A message from Derdriu,” Byleth explained, her face set into one of grim determination. “Claude needs our help.”

“Claude?” You echoed, feeling rather than seeing Sylvain’s presence nearby as he caught up to the group. “What help could he possibly need from us?”

“It seems that while we were distracted with Fhirdiad, the Empire decided to launch an attack on Derdriu,” Dimitri sighed, running a hand through his hair and looking for all the world like the attack was somehow his fault. “We need to get there as soon as possible if they are to stand a chance.”

“It can wait a few hours, I’m sure.” You said in a vain attempt to get the two to slow down.

Neither of them responded and you huffed with annoyance, speeding up your walk so that you could step in front of them.

“Both of you, _stop_!” You snapped, fixing every member of the small group with a glare that stopped them in their tracks. “It is dark, and many members of your army have undoubtedly drunk a little too much tonight. Taking them out for another battle right now is going to do more harm than good.”

Byleth pinched the bridge of her nose, looking embarrassed that she had almost made such a tactless decision. In that very moment, you realised just how much weight was resting on her shoulders.

“You’re right,” She agreed, composing herself the moment she looked back up. “We have time, Claude wouldn’t have sent that message if he didn’t think we would make it in time.”

“Good. We need to cycle the message around that we’re leaving tomorrow morning,” You said carefully, gaze drifting to the prince, who looked like he might march to the Alliance capital by himself if given half a chance. “Then get some sleep if you can, we can discuss tactics on the ride there. If that’s all, I will return to my people now.”

You bowed gracefully, then turned on one heel and began the short journey to your encampment, where there were undoubtedly still celebratory sparring matches still ongoing. Sylvain followed, keeping pace with you in silence for a few moments.

“Are you well, Sylvain?” You asked, not slowing your steps.

“Yeah,” He breathed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Just-”

“Then I suggest you turn back soon,” You interrupted, the familiar sounds of a brawl beginning to reach your ears. “If the soldiers catch sight of you, you will be swept up into a sparring match before you can even tell them you’re not from Sreng.”

“A sparring match doesn’t sound so bad,” The redhead replied, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Might help me sleep tonight.”

“I would not recommend it.” You said, grimacing at the thought of trying to sleep yourself.

“Why not?” He asked, his head turning toward you in your peripheral vision.

“In these sorts of spars, there is no such thing as a training weapon,” You replied, stopping just before a tent that had light emanating from somewhere behind it. “First to draw blood wins. And we do not avoid large injuries.”

“_That’s_ how you celebrate winning a major battle?” Sylvain asked, frowning with confusion. “Considering we’re in the middle of a war, that sounds counterproductive.”

“I once saw someone get stabbed in the gut and still take on a man twice their size the very next day with almost no difficulty,” You said, an amused grin on your face. “You seem to underestimate just how stubborn we are, Sylvain.”

“Or maybe I’m just underestimating the efficiency of your medicine,” He grumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Hey, (y/n)... If you could go back and decide whether or not to come here for the arranged marriage, would you still do it?”

You pursed your lips thoughtfully, considering the question for a while.

“I think I would,” You said finally, gently touching his shoulder with a free hand. “What about you? If you could do the same, would you?”

“I…” He paused, hanging his head with a deep sigh. “I don’t know.”

You waited for a short while, wondering if he would lift his head, or even say anything else, but it soon became clear that he wouldn’t. It was getting late. Or rather, _later_.

“You should get some sleep,” You murmured, squeezing his shoulder once before drawing your hand back to your side. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Finally you turned away, not bothering to wait for anything more from him. It wasn’t until you’d taken a few steps that he made a sound.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

You turned, tilting your head and nodding for him to continue.

“That tea you mentioned earlier today,” Sylvain said, running a hand through his hair. “Think I could take you up on that offer? After we save Derdriu, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” You replied, smiling fondly at the redhead. “You will always be welcome to have tea with me.”

***

“Well, aren’t you all just a bunch of softies?” Claude said, clasping hands with Dimitri and bringing Byleth in for a hug. “Though I will admit, you’re quite resourceful. Where’d you get those extra soldiers from? The ones that cut through the Imperial reinforcements like butter.”

“From me.” You said, stepping forward with an amused smile as the Grand Duke looked up at you, surprise written all over his face.

“(y/n)?” He asked, looking you up and down. “If you’ve always had access to an army like that, why did you wait through five years of war to get it?”

“Two and a half, actually,” You corrected him, giving Dimitri a respectful nod as you reached his side. “I returned to Sreng for a time.”

“And you stayed there for two and a half years?” Claude raised an eyebrow, his gaze thoughtful as he did mental calculations.

You exchanged a glance with the prince of Faerghus. It seemed that your old friend had completely missed the circlet on your brow. Perhaps it was so unlike a crown that he had not made the connection.

“Ah, allow me to introduce you,” Dimitri said, taking your silent cue. “Claude, this is her royal majesty, the fourteenth queen of Sreng.”

“Hm, seems you were far more important than I first thought.” Claude remarked, trying to hide his surprise. “So is Sylvain…”

“Your majesty.”

You turned away from Claude, finding your half-sister waiting nearby with a blank expression.

“Yes, Farrah?” You asked, walking towards her with an inkling of what she was about to say.

“I gathered the scholars, as you asked, they are waiting in the command tent,” She said, opening her mouth then closing it again before deciding to say whatever was on her mind. “And… A seer is waiting for you, as well.”

“A seer? Here?” You blinked, glancing back at your friends, then at Farrah, before finally turning back to them. “My apologies, I have some urgent matters to attend to.”

You took off before anyone could say anything, Farrah quickly matching your pace.

“How is there a seer here?” You muttered, hands clenching into fists at your sides. “They are supposed to be unable to leave Sreng.”

“It would not tell me,” Your half-sister replied. “I suspect it will not tell you either.”

You looked down at the ground as you walked, choosing to think instead of reply. In truth, you didn’t intend to give the seer the option to not answer your question, but could you afford to tell Farrah that?

She had placed a good deal of faith in the seers, even changed her entire life to suit what they told her. The change from promising heir to talented general content with never having the throne… That had been difficult for her. But she had gone through with it because of her belief that the seers would never steer her wrong.

Did you truly have a right to challenge that faith of hers?

You were saved the decision by the sight of all of your scholars swiftly exiting the command tent. They bowed only briefly as they passed, none of them offering up an explanation as to why they were leaving before their meeting with you had even begun. You and Farrah exchanged a look.

“I will gather them up again,” She sighed, giving you a brief nod before she turned to walk away. “It may not be possible to get them all back right away though, shall we reschedule for later tonight?”

“Yes, thank you, Farrah,” You replied, straightening your shoulders before you stepped into the command tent. “Don’t bother with the pleasantries, seer. I want to know why you’re here, why it’s more important than the knowledge I need to run this army effectively and most importantly, I want to know _how_ you’re here.”

“You left the palace before we could give you a prediction about this war,” The seer explained, crossing the room faster than you expected and reaching out for your hand. “Please, allow me to-”

“I don’t want a prediction!” You snapped, stepping back from the seer with narrowed eyes. “I want answers to my questions. You told me why, and now I’d like to know how.”

“Your majesty,” Its hands moved back under its sleeves, and its head tilted slightly as it gazed at you. “What has happened to make you so… Aggressive, towards us? It is unbecoming of a ruler to not trust their advisors.”

“I have learnt a lot over my time in Fodlan, and one of the things I learnt is that one should be skeptical of that which they revere,” You said carefully, hand drifting to the dagger on your belt. “I’ve found that they are often hiding very dark secrets behind flowery words and a pleasant demeanour.”

Miklan’s transformation immediately came to mind, followed quickly by the ‘Western Church’ raiders who had opened the coffin of Saint Seiros. And then, of course, there was the dragon that had rampaged across the battlefield during Edelgard’s initial assault on the monastery. Yes, the Church of Seiros held far too many secrets and gave far too few answers.

“Of course, your majesty. As for how I am here…” The seer hesitated, a rare sight that you were not sure you had seen in your lifetime. “There is a… Misconception, regarding our not being able to leave Sreng. We can go anywhere within the borders, as well as anywhere that the current ruler is. You have come to Fodlan, so we have come to you.”

“A misconception,” You commented, raising an eyebrow. “Which you doubtless had hundreds of years to correct, but chose not to.”

“It is not often that Sreng’s ruler leaves its borders,” The seer shrugged. “Now, if I may continue with my prediction-”

“I learnt one other thing from my time here,” You said quickly, hand reaching for a dagger that you had sheathed behind your back that morning. “All these stories about goddesses and kings… I learnt that nothing is immortal. Not even you.”

The seer took a few hasty steps back as soon as you drew the dagger, as if the very sight of it had somehow terrified it. You’d never seen a seer look afraid, until now.

“This dagger is my father’s,” You began, examining it under the light. “His first wife gave it to me the night before my coronation. She said that he locked it away shortly after I was born, the very night that he supposedly killed a seer.”

“Let’s not be hasty, your majesty.” The seer said, taking a step back for every step forward you made.

“I spent so many nights looking at this dagger, wondering what about it was different. Why was this particular knife able to kill a seer while my own would not even cut your robe?” You smiled, watching the seer put the table between itself and you. “Until I found these strange symbols on the hilt, it’s an ancient form of our language, but one of my brothers translated it for me as best he could. He said it was something to do with killing gods.”

“Your majesty,” It said, reaching out a hand over the table. “Give me that blade, it’s dangerous.”

“No.” You said simply, frowning thoughtfully at the hooded figure. “You’ve shaped my entire life with your words, shaped everyone’s lives, in fact. I know that you can omit information, decide what you do and do not tell us, so I wonder… Why are you trying to keep me under your thumb?”

“We… We aren’t, your majesty,” The seer stammered, its entire being seeming to shrink under your gaze. “We simply want you to live the best life you can!”

“By making me doubt myself?” You mused, tilting your head as your eyes narrowed. “Try again.”

“We… Rely on you,” It finally admitted, shoulders slumping. “Without the trust of Sreng’s ruler, we would cease to exist.”

“That was not so hard, was it?” You smiled, gently placing the dagger onto the table. “So, you want me to trust you so you don’t blink out of existence, yes?”

A mute nod was your only answer. At least, you _thought_ it was a nod, it was hard to tell with the hood and the lack of a face. It could have just been swirling shadows for all you knew. But you chose to see it as a nod.

“Then you have to stop lying to me. No more omitting information and no more choosing what parts of the prophecy I hear and what parts I don’t; I hate being manipulated,” You crossed your arms as you spoke, using your new-found power to your advantage. “And when I ask questions, I expect to get answers. Keep dancing around my questions and I’ll keep finding more and more reasons not to trust you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, your majesty.” The seer whispered.

“Good, now get out of my sight.” You said, watching it scurry away with a strange satisfaction.

After a few moments you sat in your chair, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you rested your elbows on the table and your head in your hands.

“Tell me, Claude,” You called, lifting your head and staring at the shadowy figure just near the tent flap. “How much of that did you hear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed that there is actually a chapter count for this now, and you may be wondering how I'm going to wrap this up in 6 chapters. The trick is a lot of pages in Google Docs and a level of stubbornness I normally only reserve for finishing entire assignments the day they're due.
> 
> On another note! The seer has simplified their weakness. It's not necessarily just trust in them (they would be long dead if relying on our queen to trust them lol), it's more that they have to hold power over the ruler. So long as they listen to and believe in the prophecy, the seers effectively hold a sort of power over them, and thus can continue existing. tl;dr: seers aren't evil, they just very much want to keep on existing.


	42. The Alliance Falls

“Tell me, Claude,” You called, lifting your head and staring at the shadowy figure just near the tent flap. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough,” He said, wandering into the tent with a sly grin. “Those things are seriously creepy, by the way.”

“Those things controlled my entire childhood with just a few words,” You replied, gesturing to the chair across the table from you. “They’re about the closest things we have to gods. Unless you count the giant bird in those old paintings.”

“Well, it sounds to me like you’re controlling _them_ now,” Claude instead opted to stand, ignoring the chair as he examined you for a short while. “I can’t help but notice that you’re missing a certain redhead who had a penchant for getting into trouble with the ladies.”

“This is the Sreng command tent, Claude,” You laced your fingers together on the table as you spoke. “Sylvain is a Faerghus soldier, why would he be here?”

“You two stuck together like glue back at the academy,” The alliance leader replied, a half-smile ghosting across his face. “What happened?”

“There was a bounty on my head, I went back to get rid of it and told Sylvain that I would be back soon and then did not return for two and a half years,” You explained, gaze dropping to the table. “And then I neglected to mention my new status until he and Dimitri came with me to the palace to request troops. I dissolved the marriage because of my new agreement with Dimitri and… I think he has been avoiding me ever since.”

“So a lot of things, then?”

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow at the amusement shining in Claude’s eyes. _Of course_ a lot of things had happened, many of them due to your own decisions.

But now that you were telling him about it… Was it really OK for you to push Sylvain away like that? Even with your knowledge of what would happen to you…

Was it right to make his decision for him?

“The seers told me that I will never return to Sreng,” You said softly, wiping the amusement right off of Claude’s face. “I can only assume that means I am to die out here. I know what Sylvain is like and I don’t want him to blame himself.”

"You know," Claude began, resting a hand on the table as he learnt forward. "He's probably going to blame himself either way."

"And how would you know that?" You asked, hoping to change the topic before he made any more good points. "You weren't in his class back at the academy."

"I figured you out, heard you talking to him once and realised you weren't from Fòdlan," He explained, smiling slightly. "When I confronted Sylvain about it, the two of you hadn't spoken for about a week. The poor guy was tearing himself up over whether or not to tell you about your mother's death, he acted like it was his fault she'd died, even though he had never met her."

"I didn't know that," You whispered, one hand moving to fiddle with your necklace. "I knew you had figured out where I was from but…"

"He really cares about you, back then _and_ now." Claude said tapping the table a couple of times before he stood up properly again. "And I don't know if you noticed, but you two always worked best when you worked together. Don't leave him in the dark."

"That's not what you came here to tell me, is it?" You asked, standing from your chair as you spoke.

"No," He smiled, shaking his head. "I actually came here to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" You echoed, frowning at the archer.

"I dissolved the Alliance, we are once again part of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus," He said, running a hand through his hair. "Gave Teach my relic too, I have important things to do elsewhere so I'm leaving Fòdlan, I won't need it half as much as you guys will."

"I see," you sighed, rounding the table so you could be face to face with the former Alliance leader. "I suppose I had better wish you safe travels, then. Even if I think you're a coward for walking away from this before it's over."

"A coward?" Claude scoffed, a hand moving to his chest. "Your majesty, you wound me."

"If you did not want to be wounded, you should not have come to me." You said, resisting the urge to laugh.

"I'm gonna miss you, (y/n)." He smiled, holding his arms out for a hug.

"And I, you." You replied, letting him wrap his arms around your shoulders as you hugged him for a few moments before pulling away. "Goodbye, Claude."

He turned to leave, getting almost out of the tent before you spoke again.

"I get the feeling we will meet again, someday," You said, crossing your arms. "After all, I'm not the only one with a royal secret, now am I?"

The only response you got was an amused grin before he was gone.

Yes… You had a feeling you would be seeing _him_ again someday.

Maybe the seers were lying about your fate after all.

***

She waited until the room was mostly empty before speaking up, looking for all the world like she was about to announce that she had an incurable disease and was about to die.

“Byleth,” (y/n) started, making Sylvain pause in the doorway. “I will not be able to attend these meetings for a few days. There’s… Something I need to take care of within my camp, and it might take some time.”

“If you need help, you only have to ask,” Byleth replied, looking up at her with a rare smile. “I’m sure I can spare a couple of knights-”

“It isn’t that sort of problem, professor,” The queen chuckled. “As you know, the royal family can challenge the ruler for the throne whenever they want. But there is a way for people of the general populace to challenge for the throne as well, there are four days each season cycle for it.”

“And one of those days is coming up?” Byleth asked, arching an eyebrow. “Surely you wouldn’t have to participate in such a thing during a war. You could lose half an army that way.”

“Yes, normally such battles would be to the death, but due to our current situation we need not worry about that,” (y/n) replied, glancing back at the doorway to find Sylvain still standing there. “I will not be required to kill any challengers tomorrow, the only person in danger of dying is myself.”

“Wait, _you_ can still die in these battles?” The redhead asked, stepping back into the room.

Byleth winced inwardly, a wave of sympathy washing over her as she watched the pair once again struggling to get things back to the way they once were. But, the professor thought as she watched the queen’s hesitation in the face of Sylvain’s concern, there was no way it could go back to how it was.

After all, she was still a queen and Sylvain was still heir to a land and people of his own. Neither of them could really afford to abandon their post, even for something as simple as following their heart. And she could tell that they both knew it.

“The only way to prove yourself stronger than the crown is to kill them,” (y/n) said finally, making a face that showed how tired she was of explaining the concept. “At any rate, I don’t intend to die. But if I do, Farrah has strict orders to challenge the winner to a duel. I assure you, she will not lose.”

“How many days will you be absent?” Byleth sighed, unknowingly cutting off Dimitri before he could ask a question of his own.

“Two, maybe three, depending on how severe my injuries are.” The queen replied, earning another arched eyebrow from her former professor.

“If you have any severe injuries you won’t be going anywhere near the battlefield until Mercedes clears you.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I am the queen of Sreng, you have no authority-”

“And you seem to have forgotten that you are not in Sreng!” Byleth snapped, taking a few steps forward. “You may be a queen but you are in _my_ war room and participating in _my_ battle strategies. What I say goes, and I will not hesitate to lock you in your room and station Felix outside so that you don’t get any funny ideas.”

(y/n) blinked, startled by the outburst. Byleth kept up a steady, disapproving look as she stared her former student down. As skilled as the girl was, Byleth knew from experience that charging onto the battlefield while injured only served to slow you down. With Fort Merceus in the army’s sights, she couldn’t afford to have the only person capable of keeping the Sreng army in line dying because she got overconfident.

After a few tense, silent moments, the queen of Sreng dipped her head respectfully, eyes shining with understanding. Byleth blinked, surprise washing over her as she returned the nod. She’d fully expected more of a fight, but perhaps the last five years had changed her old student more than she realised.

“(y/n), I am wondering how you can be so confident that Farrah will wrest the throne back if you should lose it,” Dimitri began, breaking the silence. “You told me that the seers said she would never be queen.”

“They did. I suppose that means I’ve ensured my survival tomorrow, haven’t I?” (y/n) replied, a feline smile creeping onto her face as she spoke.

Sylvain huffed, turning on one heel and exiting the room with surprising speed. Barely a moment later, the queen was running out of the room after him, completely forgetting to bid Byleth and Dimitri goodbye.

“I am concerned about her,” Dimitri muttered, moving to stand beside his former professor. “Sometimes it feels as though she is just as quiet and secretive as she was five years ago.”

“She has a lot on her mind,” Byleth replied, crossing her arms as she watched the doorway the pair had disappeared through for a few moments longer before turning to the prince. “They both do. To be honest, I’m more worried about Sylvain.”

“Sylvain?” The blond asked, frowning in confusion at the professor’s words. “Why?”

“Ever since (y/n) revealed her new station, he’s been… Well, I won’t say _distracted_, but,” She hesitated, brow furrowing as she searched for the word. “Distressed. I’d say that’s the best way to describe it. I think he’s afraid of losing her.”

“I think we’re all afraid of losing our friends, professor,” Dimitri chuckled. “Why would Sylvain be any different?”

“You haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“He’s in love with her, Dimitri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this week, hopefully it'll pick back up for the next one!
> 
> A series of things went wrong all at once with an assignment for school and I've been struggling to get back on top of it, so I've been a little exhausted lately. (It didn't help that the brave heroes banner on FEH took 300+ orbs from me and only gave me off-focus five-stars and the one brave hero I didn't want... Twice.)
> 
> Nonetheless, I am getting there! Hope everyone is staying safe, and I wish you a good rest of your week!


	43. A Crack in the Mask

Felix scowled.

It was irritating enough to be forced to watch someone else fighting all day with no chance to join in himself.

But the _waiting_ for someone to step into the ring and challenge the queen first? That was torture.

And why was he even here to begin with?

Because Sylvain wasn’t.

His childhood friend had returned from the tactics meeting the day before looking mopey and pathetic. Felix hadn’t even needed to ask who the source of the mopiness was, it was always the same person these days.

But if she died then Sylvain would get even mopier. Not only would that be irritating, but Felix would have to spend entire battles making sure his friend didn’t get himself killed. Sure, the redhead often joked about fighting like he wanted to die, but Felix had seen what he was really like when he did that.

He wasn’t here because he was worried about (y/n). Definitely not.

He was here because he was tired of putting up with Sylvain, and he knew that this was the one place the Gautier heir wouldn’t be showing his face. Stopping his friend from getting even more self-destructive hadn’t even crossed the Fraldarius’ mind.

All things considered, the atmosphere was a lot less tense than he expected. The queen of Sreng herself was standing in the centre of the ring that had been drawn in the mud with one sword partially buried in the dirt while the other stayed sheathed on her back.

Her eyes were closed, which seemed counterproductive to Felix, but after failing to sneak up on her several times it wasn’t all that surprising that she would take such a risk. With her reflexes, she’d probably have both swords at her assailant’s throat before they could even take two steps towards her.

“This is pointless.” He muttered, crossing his arms as he took a quick glance around to see if anyone would make a move.

If what he’d been told was true, she’d been standing there since dawn.

The only evidence Felix had that she’d fought anyone was the spattered blood on the ground at his feet and the queen’s torn-off sleeve.

She didn’t even have a scratch on her.

“You should not be here.” Farrah’s voice behind him made him jump, and he rounded on the princess with a huff of annoyance.

“Petra’s here.” He retorted, jerking his head in the direction of the Brigid princess, who was quietly conversing with a couple of Sreng warriors.

She’d been spending a lot of time in this area after the army returned from Derdriu. It was starting to seem like she was part of the Sreng army rather than the Faerghus one.

“She is not a southerner,” Farrah said, smiling faintly. “And she has sparred with many of the people you see here. They respect her.”

“If sparring is all it takes to be respected here, give me a sword,” Felix replied, his eyes catching on a man as he pushed his way through the crowds in front of the ring. “I’m here because Sylvain’s worried about her.”

“I’m sure you are,” Farrah’s eyes twinkled knowingly as she tried in vain to not smile at his words. “Her majesty did not want him here. I understand she told him not to come.”

“She _what_?” Felix muttered, his arms falling to his sides as he frowned at the woman standing before him.

“If you must be here,” Farrah whispered, her expression changing immediately upon seeing a challenger stepping into the ring. “Do not leave my side. You are likely to be killed if you stray too far.”

Felix only nodded, turning to watch the very thing he’d come here to see.

The challenger and the queen conversed for a short while, their words utterly meaningless to the Fraldarius heir. The challenger wore a confident expression, the sort Felix used to have before (y/n) had wiped the floor with him a few times. It was hard not to let a smug grin creep onto his face as he realised what was about to happen.

(y/n) had barely pulled her sword out of the ground before the man charged, apparently enraged by whatever she had said to him. Steel clashed on steel as she blocked both of his swords with only one of her own, and after a few tense moments she shoved him away and drew her second sword, which was when the fight truly began.

Her movements were graceful; they always were, but this time Felix wasn’t on the receiving end, and had the rare chance to just observe her technique.

Within only a few seconds he could tell that this time, her movements were _different_. More precise. Calculated.

Normally when they sparred or fought together there was a sort of freedom to her footwork and swings, something that allowed for mistakes and clumsiness. But today her every step was deliberate and nearly perfect for every blow and dodge.

Perhaps back at the academy she’d simply been playing with everyone she fought. Pretending to be worse than she truly was to give herself a bit of a challenge. It would have been thrilling to know that she could offer Felix more of a challenge if he didn’t find it so insulting that she’d been holding back this whole time for her own amusement.

(y/n)’s opponent was a truly formidable foe, but whatever she’d said to him had clearly thrown him off his game. He was throwing too much power behind every swing, putting too much weight on every step and unbalancing his form far too often.

It was over in just a couple of minutes, not that Felix really noticed until Farrah barked a command from her position next to him and the fight ceased. Sreng’s queen smiled slightly, sheathing one sword over her back once more so that she could bring the other up to the bottom of her shirt, where she carefully wiped a few stray drops of blood off of it.

It wasn’t a particularly deep cut on her opponent’s arm, but it was certainly enough for this particular competition. She’d drawn first blood, while he hadn’t even managed to land a blow. The man gritted out something deferential and bowed, clearly not pleased to be doing either action.

After that particular challenger, the fights kept up, going on until the sun was almost completely set. Torches were lit around the area, giving it a dim glow that would make it _possible_ to fight, but not _easy_. But from what Felix had seen throughout the day, the people of Sreng didn’t really like making things easy.

After almost an hour with no challengers, the sun finally set. The crowd around the ring had dissipated, leaving only Felix, Petra, Farrah and three other people.

(y/n) stood stockstill, one sword buried in the dirt and eyes closed once more. The moon was slowly making its way up, but still she waited.

Until there was a flash in the darkness, and she turned just in time for a shadowy figure to plunge a dagger into her stomach instead of her back like they had surely intended.

Before Felix could take more than a step, Farrah raised her arm, expressionless despite having to watch her half-sister and queen double over, pressing her hands into the wound with a hiss of pain.

“She must stay there until the moon is at its highest,” The warrior said quietly, eyes flashing with fury that she was clearly trying to hide. “That is the rule.”

“Screw the rule!” Felix snapped, shoving her arm out of the way and hurrying to the queen’s side. “Honour and tradition aren’t going to do anything for you if you die out here, (y/n).”

“It is… Not long now.” (y/n) gritted out, a shuddering breath escaping her lips as she tried to hide just how much pain she was in.

“Don’t be stupid,” The Fraldarius heir muttered, tugging on her free arm. “Put your arm around my shoulders and let me help you. It’s either that or I carry you to the infirmary.”

She glared up at him, staring for a long moment before sighing and raising her arm for him. He nodded gratefully, taking her arm and pulling it around his shoulders as he put an arm around hers. She was leaning heavily on him, and Felix wasn’t sure if they would make it there before she passed out.

“I shouldn’t have... Shouldn’t have told Sylvain not to come,” (y/n) muttered, wincing with every shaky step they took. “Would you… Tell him I’m sorry…?”

“Tell him yourself,” This time Felix couldn’t stop the note of worry in his voice. “What is it with you and assassins, anyway?”

“Didn’t… Didn’t know you cared.” Her smile was weak, but her teasing tone almost convinced him that she was fine.

“I don’t,” He scowled, looking away from her. “Just don’t die on me, OK? I don’t want to deal with Sylvain’s moping.”

Her only response was a weak chuckle, and what he thought was a “sure you don’t”, but he was a bit preoccupied when she fell forward, and he had to catch her.

“(y/n)?” Felix asked, gently shaking her shoulder. “(y/n)!”

***

Farrah was standing by the window when you woke.

“Why is it that I cannot stop finding myself here?” You murmured, making your half-sister jump.

“It is a consequence of taking stupid risks.” She replied, the relief in her eyes betraying the stony look of disappointment on her face.

“You broke tradition to save me.” You commented, changing the subject before being forced to explain yourself.

“I did,” Your half-sister said, crossing her arms and leaning on the windowsill behind her. “You may have accepted your death, but we have not.”

“We?” You echoed, frowning at her.

“Your Fodlan friends,” Farrah smiled softly. “They are almost as stubborn as you. That blue-haired one nearly started a fight with Sylvain this morning.”

“Felix,” You said, nodding slowly as you carefully pulled yourself into a sitting position. “He doesn’t like to show it but… He cares about his friends quite a bit.”

“Well, he made Sylvain a bit less nice to look at,” Your half-sister said, smiling at your questioning frown. “Those… ‘knights’ dragged them off after some punches were thrown. He is a gifted swordsman, but his punch was _sloppy_.”

“That’s quite the compliment, coming from you,” You said, an amused smile on your face as you thought about it. “Although I suppose I should be asking about my army, not my friends. How many deserted after the incident?”

“None.”

“None?”

“We all agreed that tradition was originally broken by your cowardly attacker, and you are not to blame.”

“Did they agree before or after you threatened them?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” You chuckled, smiling up at your half-sister. “...You know… You would make a much better queen than me.”

“You are a fine queen,” Farrah raised an eyebrow, pausing to examine you before she continued. “You make some… Interesting choices, but you lead well. I do not see how I could do better.”

“I’m overconfident,” You sighed, gaze dropping to your lap. “And I have become careless because of it. It’s a wonder I am still alive.”

“I am content where I am, (y/n),” Your half-sister moved to your bedside, her expression completely serious as she knelt down into your line of sight. “Besides, the only way I could become queen now is with you dead, and I refuse to let that happen. If you were not meant to be queen, you would never have defeated father.”

“I cheated.” You said flatly, still not looking up.

“There is no rule against what you did.”

“I should have won on my own merit!”

“You did exactly that.”

“No, I didn’t!” You snapped, finally lifting your head to fix her with a fiery glare. “Why do you insist on defending me? You used to think this place had made me weak.”

“I used to think a lot of things," Farrah mused, almost sighing but stopping herself at the last second. “But you have long since changed my mind. It may take some time, but I think you will change many more minds, too.”

“Only if I manage to survive long enough to do it.” You said drily, glancing at the doorway when you heard footsteps nearby.

“You seem to have a penchant for getting put in the infirmary every chance you get,” Byleth commented, an amused half-smile on her face as she leant in the doorway. “As good as it is to see you awake, I wish this would happen a little less often.”

“The problem with ruling is that someone always thinks they can do better than you,” You replied, gesturing for her to come in. “And they generally want to prove it by putting a knife in your back… Truth be told I heard them coming but I overestimated how fast I could move.”

What you’d told Byleth was half of the truth.

You really _had_ overestimated your abilities.

But you’d also hesitated. For just a few seconds, a few seconds too many, you’d hesitated. You’d wondered if _this_ was how you were supposed to die. If saving yourself would be pointless because in the grand scheme of things, this was the reason you would never return to Sreng.

Farrah seemed to know this too, because she shot you a strange look as you spoke, but quickly returned to her usual flat expression when she remembered who else was in the room.

The exchange was not lost on Byleth, who glanced at your half-sister momentarily before turning back to you and deciding not to press the issue.

“Mistakes happen, I wouldn’t beat myself up over it if I were you,” She said finally, her green eyes seeming to stare into your very soul. “Even queens are allowed to make mistakes, (y/n). It’s impossible to avoid human error.”

“I would like to avoid it where I can, so I hope you will be happy to hear that I won’t be going to Fort Merceus with the rest of you,” You said, ignoring the frown you got from Farrah. “I assume that’s why you came here, yes?”

“It was,” Your old professor smiled, pushing off the doorway and taking a step into the room. “I’m glad our chat the other day got through to you. To be honest, I thought I was going to have to lock you in here.”

“Farrah is more than capable of leading the army, I have no doubts that the plan will go more smoothly if I don’t try to push myself further than I can go.” You replied, patting Farrah’s arm to emphasise your point.

“Your majesty, I do not think I can-”

“Farrah.” You said sharply, turning your head so that you could look at your half-sister properly. “I can barely walk right now, let alone fight. There would be no point in my going out there and making myself an easy target for the imperial army. You will take my place for this mission, and that’s an order.”

“Yes, your majesty,” She dipped her head respectfully, then straightened and turned to Byleth. “I suppose you will need to explain your plan to me, then, Byleth.”

“We don’t have the plan completely fleshed out yet, but there’s a tactics meeting soon where we’ll be going over the final details,” Byleth nodded, turning back to the doorway. “In the meantime, I suggest we let (y/n) get some rest.”

Farrah didn’t reply, merely stopped to give you a curt bow before following your former professor out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

You sighed, your mind working through all of the prophecies the seers had given you.

First and foremost, there was the one that seemed to be hanging not only over your head, but over Farrah’s as well. You weren’t sure how or why, but you would never be returning to Sreng.

Did it truly mean that you would die before the end of this war?

Or did it perhaps mean that you would find a way to stay in Fodlan? To give your throne to Farrah and leave all your responsibilities behind?

And then of course, there was the one that the seers had been telling you from birth.

Most of it had been fulfilled, but a few pieces were still left. And the seers had extended it shortly after you brought Sylvain and Dimitri back to the palace with you.

_ ‘Before the war can end, you must decide if you will return that which is freely given to you. After that, a long-kept secret will be revealed and you will lose two things: A burden, and something you hold dear. Only then will you be free to choose your own path.’ _

So many decisions that you had yet to make were weighing on your shoulders.

The fate of the Tempest King was most worrying. At this point, you were sure that the Tempest King was Dimitri himself…

But what was about to happen that would leave you with the power to decide if he lives or dies?

Or had you already decided? Had bringing your army from Sreng been the deciding factor for whether Dimitri lived or died?

And deciding to return something freely given to you…

That was even more confusing. A good deal of things were freely given, but the war would not end until you figured out what, exactly, you were supposed to return.

You needed time to think.

And fortunately for you, almost everyone was about to leave to take Fort Merceus. In just a few days, you would have the peace and quiet you needed to consider your next move.

One way or another, the war was going to end. 

You would make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, we're getting there y'all!
> 
> Parts of the prophecy that have come to pass already (whether the characters know it or not):  
\- A Promise not yet made (The promise made in the Goddess Tower)  
\- Trusting the man of green & the girl of green vanishing (Talking to Seteth after Flayn was kidnapped)  
\- The war against a mystery enemy (Edelgard declaring war)  
\- The schemer interfering (literally everything Claude has ever done)  
\- Leaving Sreng three times (For the marriage, for the promise & with the army)  
\- The emperor of flames forcing your hand (Edelgard's war making you return to Sreng for the army)  
\- The fate of the tempest king (As speculated below, it was the decision to muster an army to aid in the war)


	44. The Moment That Almost Was

Suffice to say, Sylvain felt like a total idiot.

Standing in the stables, patting his horse’s nose with one hand while he nursed a black eye with the other…

Yeah, maybe he’d pushed Felix a little _too far_ this time. Maybe.

But really, it wasn’t fair that Felix had been mad at him _before_ he even walked into the room. The only thing he’d done to upset his friend was… Well, not showing up to something that he’d been specifically told not to go to.

How was it fair that Sylvain was in trouble for _doing what he was told_?

And seriously, why Felix thought that Sylvain could have changed anything that had happened just by being there was beyond him.

As much as (y/n)’s presence in his life had made him a better person and overall a better fighter… She still had a lifetime of experience and training that had been more intense and life-threatening than anything either noble had gone through.

The one small comfort from the events that had transpired the night before was the unimpressed huff that escaped Farrah’s lips almost as soon as Felix threw the punch. At least he would always have her disapproval on his side, even if he knew that she was just disgusted by Felix’s appalling technique and not by his decision to throw the punch in the first place.

She’d muttered something about it being the worst punch she’d ever seen, but it had certainly _felt_ like a pretty solid punch to him. Coming from Sylvain, the guy who probably got punched more times than he wanted to admit when he was younger, that would be quite the compliment.

Or maybe he’d just been punched so many times that he couldn’t really see much difference between a good one and a bad one anymore.

“(y/n)’s probably pretty disappointed in me, huh?” He murmured, deciding that he would definitely stop poking the bruise and focus entirely on brushing his horse’s coat down. “It was mostly Felix’s fault anyway, he started the fight, not me.”

His only response was a snort and a stamped hoof.

“Right, you weren’t there,” Sylvain muttered, turning away so he could grab a brush off of the nearby counter. “Felix told me to get my head out of my ass and I told him to- Well, the details don’t matter, but he punched me for it.”

There was no response this time, but a horse nearby shook its head almost disapprovingly.

The redhead chose to ignore that horse and turned back to his own, stepping into the stall and smiling as he ran a hand over its flank.

“She’s gorgeous, you know,” He sighed, gently brushing out the shiny black coat of his battlefield companion. “Even when she’s covered in blood and dirt after a long battle… Heh, she claims not to care about her looks, but I see that annoyed look in her eyes when I tell her she looks pretty before she can clean up after a battle.”

The mare simply lowered her head, grabbing a mouthful of hay and unceremoniously chewing on it.

“I really like her, you know? She’s fun to be around,” Sylvain smiled, enjoying the simplicity of his task. “I want to tell her how I feel but… How can I do that when I know she’s going to die?”

Another snort, and a shake of the head.

“You’re right,” He nodded, carefully moving to the horse’s other side and beginning to brush her again. “Maybe I should do it _because_ of that stupid prophecy. Maybe she’s not going to die. She seems to think so though, guess she didn’t like me that much after all, huh?”

“Sylvain, what are you doing?”

The redhead jumped, the brush clattering out of his hands and to the floor.

“Gah!” He cried, turning his head to find Lysithea standing just outside of the stall, hands on her hips and looking very confused. “Lysithea! What are you doing here? You scared me half to death.”

“I’m on stable duty today,” She replied, crossing her arms. “Did you forget?”

“N-no.” Sylvain stammered, trying for all the world to not look surprised. Because he had, in fact, forgotten. “I just like to hang out here with my horse sometimes, you know? She’s like family.”

“Is that why you were talking to her?” Lysithea tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as if she were considering whether or not he’d lost his sanity.

“I wasn’t talking _to_ her,” He answered, bending down to pick up the brush. “You can’t have a conversation with someone who can’t talk back. I was mostly just… Talking _at_ her.”

“About (y/n).”

“Goddess, how much of that did you hear before you decided to speak up?”

“Not much, but it wasn’t difficult to figure it out.”

“Of course it wasn’t. Sometimes I forget that you’re a genius.”

“You also seem to have forgotten that the stables are not a good area to have private conversations,” The girl said flatly. “If you want to talk to your horse without anyone eavesdropping you’d be better off going for a ride.”

“Right before we leave for a battle? Are you crazy?” Sylvain asked, stepping past Lysithea and placing the brush onto the table. “I can’t risk injuring her leg or something before setting out, we don’t exactly have a lot of spare horses.”

“So take (y/n)’s horse instead.” Lysithea suggested.

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not? It’s not like she’s going to be using it.”

“It’s still _her horse_! What if I mess up and it gets injured during the battle?”

“Sreng horses are built for combat in snowy terrain, they do better than _our_ horses out here.”

“OK, you’ve got a point, but I can’t just borrow it without asking!”

“So ask,” The girl sighed, eyebrow raised as she stared at the redhead. “Why are you being so difficult about this, anyway? It’s a hypothetical situation.”

“Because I’m-” Sylvain cut himself off, looking down at his dusty boots and then back up at Lysithea. “I might be… Hiding from (y/n)...”

“If you’re hiding, you’re not doing a very good job of it.” She shook her head, amusement shining in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

“Sylvain,” The mage started, frowning for a moment as if she was trying to figure out if he was being serious or not. “Do you honestly believe that this isn’t the _first place_ she would come looking for you?”

“No,” He lied, fully aware that this was where she would look first, probably because that would mean admitting that he _wanted_ her to find him. “Besides, I only have to hide for a few more hours, and it’s not like she’s going to be walking around, anyway.”

“And once again, you underestimate her,” Lysithea sighed, shaking her head again. “Honestly, how can you be so stupid?”

Sylvain gaped, blinking in surprise at a phrase that he’d heard her utter many, many times. But for some reason, he’d never expected her to say it to _him_.

But yeah, maybe he was being stupid. But only a little bit.

OK, maybe a lot.

She was right, hiding away in the stables talking to his horse was hardly his finest plan to avoid (y/n). And what was even the point of avoiding her? Avoiding that look of disappointment in her eyes?

He was going to have to face it eventually, unless he died at Fort Merceus of course, but knowing his luck the Goddess herself would make sure he survived so that he would have to endure it anyway.

And besides… He needed to confirm that she actually was staying behind.

He’d never known her to turn down a fight, so what had changed?

“You’re right,” He said, smiling softly. “If this plan doesn’t work and we all die at Fort Merceus, this could be my last chance to talk to her. Thanks Lysithea, I’m going to have to track down some of that tea you like to thank you later.”

He didn’t hear her response, as he’d already made his way out of the stables at a speed that he used to only reserve for running away from angry fathers, brothers and even husbands.

For once in his life, Sylvain knew what he needed to do.

***  
“Oh, there you are!”

You looked up from the reports Farrah had given you that morning, frowning as Sylvain skidded to a halt next to you.

“Why are you out of breath?” You asked, looking him up and down.

“I went to the infirmary and you weren’t there,” He answered, taking a few seconds to breathe before continuing. “Since then I’ve been running all over the monastery looking for you!”

“Did you… Need me for something?” You said, not making any move to get up off of the bench you were sitting on.

After all, almost all of the preparations being made at the moment were for the mission at Fort Merceus, which you weren’t going to be participating in.

“Uh- Well- No, not really,” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he spoke. “I just… I wanted to talk to you before we left, is all.”

“Alright then,” You patted the spot next to you a couple times, shifting over a little to make more room. “Sit.”

Sylvain carefully sat next to you, still looking a little too tense for the current situation. Was he truly that worried about leaving for Fort Merceus?

“Shouldn’t you be with Farrah right now?” He asked, making you tilt your head. “You know, helping her finish preparations, making sure she’s done everything she needs to?”

“Of course not,” You smiled softly, shaking your head. “Farrah has everything under control, she was a talented general long before we came out here and she knows what to do. Besides, if I showed up now, even to help, it would undermine her authority.”

“Right, because as her queen you wouldn’t want to undermine _her_ authority or anything…”

“Correct. By the end of this war I fully expect for her to be the queen of Sreng instead of me.”

“Is that going to happen because you order it or because you die on the battlefield just to fulfill some prophecy that says you’ll never return to Sreng?”

“So you did overhear that conversation.” You murmured, hands curling into fists in your lap.

“Yeah,” Sylvain sighed, looking down at his lap then back up at you. “I should have said something sooner-”

“No,” You put one of your hands onto his as you spoke. “You were waiting for me to tell you myself, weren’t you?”

He nodded mutely, reminding you of your time back at the academy when you could only really nod or shake your head in response to questions. It had certainly been a simpler time back then, in fact, you almost missed it.

“I wanted to,” You started, slowly withdrawing your hand. “But… I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” He frowned, examining your face for any clues that might answer his question.

“I was scared of what you might do to try and avert the course of the future,” You said. “And I was terrified of what it might do to you if, after all that effort, you fail.”

“Is that why you broke off the marriage?” Sylvain asked, shrugging when you opened your mouth to deny it. “It’s the only explanation I can think of. Things were… _Fine_, between us when we were in Sreng. I mean, I was upset but I’d have gotten over it. Once you got back from talking to that Seer, though, you shut down… You stopped talking to me.”

“I didn’t-”

“Come on, (y/n), ever since we got back you’ve been avoiding me. You don’t have to pretend you weren’t,” A sad smile crossed his features, and your heart ached at the sight of it. “You broke off the marriage, you spend all your time in that command tent or training with Farrah and Petra, you come to the tactics meetings just in time for Byleth to start speaking and leave as soon as she’s done… Even when I do manage to get a hold of you, you’ve always got your mind somewhere else.”

"You're right, I haven't been a very good friend to you lately, and I want to change that," You murmured, glancing at the reports you'd left on the bench beside you. "But I did not break off the marriage because of the prophecy."

"Then why?" He frowned, reaching out to take your hand in one of his own.

"You once told me that you hated all the women who wanted you only for your crest or your status. That you did what you did because you knew you wouldn't get a choice in the end, because a wife would be chosen for you," You explained, squeezing his hand. "I broke off the marriage because… I wanted to give you that choice back."

"You… wanted to give me a choice," He echoed, staring at you blankly for a moment before he sighed. "If you were giving me a choice then… then why won't you let me choose _you_?"

You paused, staring at Sylvain for a long time before you could bring yourself to say anything.

"Choose me?" You whispered, blinking in surprise. "Sylvain, why would you want to-"

"Oh, there you are!” Byleth called, making you both jump with her sudden appearance.

You withdrew your hand, smoothing down the cloth of your pants and shifting uncomfortably as you tried to regain your composure. Your former professor stopped just next to the bench, breathing heavily, as if she’d just run all the way here from a completely different part of the monastery.

“Sorry, but I’ll need to steal Sylvain away for a while, our scouts reported a storm coming in and it looks like we’ll need to leave for Fort Merceus tonight,” She explained, her light smile looking strained. “Goddess knows if it will even make it to the fort before it breaks but we can’t afford to take a chance like that.”

The redhead glanced at you, looking torn. He clearly wanted to stay and finish the conversation, and you were dying to know the answer to the question you hadn’t gotten to ask.

Why did he want to choose you?

Did it mean he-

Did it… 

Did it mean he loved you?

But you both knew that he had something important to do, and he couldn’t just ignore it.

There was a time limit now, and no telling if the army would even be successful. No telling if he would come back, or if he would die before he ever got to explain what he’d meant by choosing you.

You knew what you needed to.

“Go,” You said, a fake smile gracing your features. “We can finish this later.”

“Right…” He nodded, reluctantly standing up to follow Byleth.

He spared one glance back, and you hoped that your eyes would convey what your words could not:

_Be careful._

***

If Sothis were still here, Byleth knew that she would be laughing right now.

How strange it was, that the mercenary could think up battle strategies on the spot while surrounded by enemy soldiers, but she could not think of a way to save one of her former students after turning back time.

She’d thought that leaving them to talk had been the right thing.

That they _needed_ to talk.

But then…

Sylvain had gone and sacrificed himself to secure victory. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had made the hard choice. Had chosen a hero’s death over fleeing the battlefield, taking (y/n), and running as far away as he could.

That wouldn’t happen this time.

This time, Byleth would save him.

And it all started with making sure that he had unfinished business, because someone with unfinished business will do everything in their power to come home.

“Sylvain, I was thinking over the strategy for taking Fort Merceus,” Byleth said as they walked, not daring to look at him in case he saw the haunted look that was undoubtedly still in her eyes. “And I’ve thought of a place where you’ll be needed much more than in the original plan.”

“Are you sure, professor? Without me, Dimitri’s right flank will be-”

“I’ve sorted that out, don’t worry,” She almost smiled at the old nickname, remembering happier times. “Trust me.”

And she sincerely hoped that he would.

Because she wasn’t sure how many more times she could take travelling back in time to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain strikes me as the kind of person who would talk to his horse.
> 
> I can hardly believe I'm about to wrap this thing up. It's been? Almost a year? Crazy, right? T-Minus 3 more chapters!


	45. Red

**Several Hours Prior to the Army’s Departure for the Assault on Fort Merceus...**

The dull crack of wooden swords hitting each other echoed around the room.

“So what is the problem?” Petra asked, relaxing her stance with a worried glance at the bandages that were just visible under your shirt.

You’d told her about the prophecy; the reason you had been so distant and antsy lately.

And she’d worked out for herself the real reason behind your slow reaction to the assassin, who had already been caught and sent back to Sreng for sentencing. As soon as the war was over, something would have to be done about an assassin so bold that they would use their own unique dagger in the attempt.

Farrah certainly did move quickly, were it not for the prophecy hanging over her own head, she would be a fine queen.

“The problem is that I will die before I make it across the border back to Sreng,” You sighed, swinging your sword again despite the dull ache in your side. “But I don’t know when.”

“The seer did not say that you would die, did they?” The Brigid princess frowned, bringing her sword up to block.

Sitting in the infirmary for so long had made you anxious to get moving again, and although this was less than ideal for you, at least Petra was letting you do _something_.

Of course, everyone else was right. There _was_ only so much that healing magic could do for you before it all came down to rest and recuperation. It could bring you back from the brink of death but you’d still need the time for your body to right itself.

But you’d survived a lot worse and recovered in a much shorter amount of time. It would be funny just how much people continued to underestimate you if it wasn’t so frustrating.

“Well,” You grimaced, lowering your sword. “_No,_ but-”

“Then your death is not necessarily the reason you do not return,” The hunter smiled, relaxing her stance and leaning lightly on her training sword. “You have other options.”

“Like what? Staying here in Fodlan?”

Petra laughed softly, a fond smile crossing her face.

“You are normally so careful, with your every move planned out, much like a predator,” She explained, her smile growing wider at the sight of your confused frown. “But when you speak of these prophecies, you remind me very much of prey. It is really quite amusing.”

“Prey?” You echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“You are so frightened of the words of these ‘Seers’ that you are like a terrified rabbit running from a fox,” She said, shaking her head. “So terrified that you have convinced yourself that death is your only option, and you cornered yourself, making you the perfect target. But you have other options, you are just refusing to see them.”

“I don’t really see what other option I could possibly have,” You shook your head, hand idly reaching for the circlet on your brow. “After all, I still have this damn crown on my head.”

“So take off the crown.” She suggested, frowning at your bewildered expression.

“I can’t just do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because the only way to get this crown off my head is a duel. In Sreng, a duel always ends in death!”

“You are not in Sreng at the moment,” Petra said calmly, reminding you of when Felix had said the same thing to Farrah. “Fodlan has duels that are not to the death, you could use that to your advantage. Now, shall we continue?”

“Actually, I think I might stop for today,” You replied, quickly placing your training sword back where you found it. “If Sylvain catches me in here I doubt I will hear the end of it.”

“Sylvain is hiding in the stables,” The princess said, an amused smile on her lips as she spoke. “I think that you are not worried about him finding you because you have a plan.”

“Only the beginnings of one,” You smiled, almost laughing at the thought of Sylvain hiding from you in the first place you would look for him. “But I have some work to get done first. Thank you, Petra.”

***

**Present Day**

You frowned as yet another group of riders went by, talking and laughing with each other as if all was well. They were, after all, only returning to help organise supplies before heading back out for the next stop in the army’s journey: Enbarr.

But something was _wrong_.

Those were definitely men under Sylvain’s command, but there was no sign of the redhead himself.

And you couldn’t ask anyone where he was, anyway. Not until Byleth and Dimitri finally arrived, but they were apparently bringing up the rear, which meant more waiting for you.

_Where was he?_

And why did the rest of your friends either stay to help defend the fort or stay behind in the monastery with you?

You nodded to a small group of soldiers who used to be under your command as they passed, most of them returned the nod but a couple of them pointedly looked away, reminding you once again that your job was far from over. You would have a long road ahead of you before old wounds caused by the war between Sreng and Fodlan could heal, and it would certainly not be an easy journey.

Finally you spotted the prince of Faerghus, and shortly after, the woman behind every last strategy the army had produced.

And still no Sylvain.

You felt panic rising in you, your mind jumping to conclusions even as you forced yourself to smile and walk towards the pair.

They had their heads together, and were deep in conversation (most likely already considering plans for taking Enbarr) until Dimitri looked up and spared you a tired smile.

“Ah, (y/n),” He said, making Byleth look up. “It’s good to see you on your feet again, though you didn’t need to wait at the gates for us.”

“I was on watch when we first caught sight of you,” You explained, even as your gaze flitted about looking for a familiar face. “And before you tell me that I should be resting, I was cleared a couple of days after you all left and I’m going crazy not doing anything.”

“Well, that’s good,” Byleth said, a rare smile crossing her face. “Because a big part of my plan so far hinges on your actually being there.”

“You seem distracted,” The prince said carefully, almost reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder but thinking better of it. “Is everything OK, (y/n)?”

“Yes, I’m fine it’s just…” You bit your lip, debating whether or not to lie to the pair. “I didn’t see Sylvain come in.”

The pair exchanged a look. The sort of look that you knew meant there was something they didn’t want to tell you. The familiar panic rose again, but you forced it down so that no one would see how frightened you were.

“Sylvain volunteered to stay behind and help prepare Fort Merceus’ defenses,” Byleth said, clearly choosing each word carefully. “But he and some others will be returning to the monastery once Farrah is confident that she can spare them.”

“I see.” You said, nodding respectfully before you turned away from the pair to hide the tears that were forming in your eyes despite your best efforts.

It seemed that he was avoiding you. Perhaps he didn’t want to finish the conversation the two of you had been having before he’d left. Had he said something he regretted?

Had he changed his mind?

You squared your shoulders, swallowing thickly before speaking again. “Thank you for telling me, I said I would meet Petra once I was done here, so if you’ll excuse me.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

You _had_ promised to meet Petra. Tomorrow morning.

Until then, you weren’t sure you would be able to keep up your usual façade.

Not until Sylvain finally explained what was going on in his head.

***

Sylvain sighed, walking down a path that would take him to the Goddess Tower with his hands in his pockets.

He had returned to the monastery as soon as he possibly could, but he’d ended up returning pretty late in the evening and had yet to even catch a glimpse of the one person he’d wanted to see most of all: (y/n).

He knew that he shouldn’t have his hopes up, that the conversation he’d eavesdropped on might not have been telling of anything, really. But _Goddess..._ The hurt in the young queen’s voice when she’d told Farrah not to make things up…

He couldn’t help it if he thought that maybe his feelings weren’t as unrequited as he’d first thought. And he needed to believe that now, more than ever, because he needed to talk to her about what he’d said before he left.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to talk to her about it unless he was sure that she felt the same way he did. Of course, he wasn’t _sure_ but…

Well, it certainly helped that he had so thoroughly convinced himself that he _was_.

Only problem was, he might lose that confidence by the time he woke up in the morning, which was precisely when he was going to have to talk to (y/n). But that wasn’t what was bothering him.

What bothered him was what Dimitri and Byleth had said when he arrived:

That she had long since retired for the night. And that she’d looked _tired_.

His mind whirled with the possibilities, had she been unable to sleep recently? Was she staying up late to work on important documents?

The redhead spared a glance at the dorm rooms, pausing his walk as he considered checking in on her. That wouldn’t be weird, would it? After all, they were friends and he was worried about her…

No.

He couldn’t just go to her room and risk waking her. Especially not if she had reportedly been looking tired. Besides, there didn’t seem to be any light peeking through her door anyway.

But what if she _was_ awake?

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath and straightening his shoulders, then turned and walked for the dorms. If (y/n) was awake, they would talk and he’d finally be able to settle all the anxious thoughts he’d had since their conversation had been interrupted.

If not… Well, he could always go to bed for the night and just try to wake up early enough to catch her then.

Of course, he wasn’t sure he had _ever_ awoken before the Sreng Queen but… Well, it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

Sylvain got to the door faster than he expected, or really wanted, to. He let out a shaky breath as he reached up and quietly knocked on the door.

It slowly swung inwards, revealing a dark room that would shortly be illuminated by the moonlight coming from behind him. That was odd. (y/n) always locked her door. Had she really been that tired?

The woman in question was lying on her bed, sound asleep. The Gautier heir smiled, unable to contain the joy he felt simply from seeing her safe. She was facing away from the door, but the steady rise and fall of her chest made him feel a thousand times better about the situation.

This was probably the first time in a long time that he’d ever seen her look so at peace.

It was then that he noticed her blanket had fallen off her shoulder, to which he let out a huff of amusement and carefully stepped into the room, taking care to make as little noise as possible.

Fixing her blanket couldn’t do any harm now, could it?

He leant over her and reached for the cloth, thinking about how glad he was that he hadn’t managed to disturb her slumber.

And that was the last thought he had before she drove her elbow into his stomach.

***

You’d been asleep right until the footsteps outside stopped at your door.

At the sound of two gentle knocks, you’d moved a hand under your pillow, carefully taking hold of the knife you kept there and ever so slowly pulling it out of its sheath.

There was a long, tense pause.

Then an amused huff.

You forced yourself to stay relaxed, to keep up the illusion that you were asleep, as slow and quiet footsteps drew ever closer.

Finally, they stopped next to your bedside, and your heart raced as someone leant over you.

You took your chance, driving your elbow up into their stomach and rolling over, holding the knife right up to their throat.

It took you a second to process the red hair, or the familiar sounding voice that muttered a curse. A few more moments and the intruder looked up, eyes shining with a mix of pain and regret, and shot you a half-smile.

“Sylvain?” You asked, forcing back a yawn as you frowned at the man standing in front of you. “What are you doing here?”

“Forgetting about your crazy reflexes, apparently,” He replied, chuckling slightly as he shot another glance at the knife you still had hovering in front of his face. “I really should have thought it through before I decided that you looked cold and needed that blanket fixed.”

“I thought there was an assassin in my room,” You muttered, dropping the dagger onto your bedside table. “And I thought you were still at Fort Merceus.”

“I was, but Manuela cleared me and Farrah had some stuff she wanted me to deliver to the Professor and His Highness.” The redhead shrugged, and you looked up at his words, frowning in confusion.

“Why would Manuela need to clear you?” You asked, barely forcing back a yawn.

“Well, that’s generally what happens when you get a concussion,” Sylvain chuckled, cutting himself off as soon as he saw the concern on your face. “But something tells me you didn’t know about that.”

“Byleth said you volunteered to stay behind.” You explained, shoulders relaxing at the realisation that maybe he hadn’t been avoiding you after all.

You bit your lip, gaze dropping to your lap as you avoided voicing the thoughts that had crossed your mind when she’d told you where he was.

“Hey,” He said softly, taking hold of one of your hands. “She probably had good intentions, I bet she just didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“I don’t worry.” You huffed, eyes darting back up to his face before you forced yourself to look away again.

Sylvain only chuckled at your words, making you properly look at him again.

“Sure you do. You do this cute little frown, and you get these-” He cut himself off, his smile dropping into a more serious expression. “...Can we talk?”

“We already are talking.” You said, trying and failing to hide an amused smile.

“I meant _outside_,” He said, shaking his head as he tried not to let his own amusement show. “It may be late, but there are still a few people around and I don’t want them thinking anything nefarious is going on in here.”

You almost pointed out that the two of you had been alone in this room many times and no one had made a fuss, but from the look in his eyes you could tell that he had something on his mind. Besides, you would hardly get anywhere with finding out what he’d meant before he left by teasing him any further.

“Of course.”

You’d fallen asleep in your clothes from the day, which was a normal occurrence for you, so all that was really left to do was to put on a coat and some shoes.

Sylvain waited patiently outside, only shooting you a small but uneasy smile as you exited your room and shut your door behind you. And for one sickening moment, you thought that maybe he was about to take everything back, that he hadn’t meant to say anything to make you think that he could love you.

But all of that melted away as soon as he spoke.

“You didn’t think I was dead, did you?” He asked, leading the way across the courtyard.

“No,” You replied, butterflies in your stomach as you forced yourself to continue. “I thought much worse.”

“Worse?” He echoed, turning his head to look at you with a confused frown. “What could be worse than dead?”

“I thought you were avoiding me…” You trailed off, rubbing your left arm with your right hand. “That you regretted what you said to me before you left.”

“Yeah, at first I was kicking myself. I mean, saying something like that in the middle of war-time, when neither of us knows if we’re going to make it back from the next fight…” He trailed off, biting his lip before continuing. “I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I’m glad I did. After all, you seem set on dying before the war’s over, and I don’t want to regret not saying anything, even if I _really_ don’t want you to die.”

You stopped in your tracks, waiting until he’d realised that you weren’t following and stopped as well. When he finally turned around, you took stock of your surroundings. Had he been taking you to the dining hall?

The lake in the distance behind him answered your question for you.

“You’re right, I _was_ set on dying, and I was pushing you away,” You admitted, arms moving back to your sides as your gaze dropped to the ground. “I thought that you… That you were doing just fine without me. That you only liked me in the first place because you thought I was your only option and you were _settling_ for me. I… I thought that, given time, you would hate me.”

The sound of footsteps on the grass was your only indicator that he was moving towards you.

“(y/n), I could never hate you,” A hand cupped the side of your face, and you looked up to see a sad half-smile on Sylvain’s face. “You’re one of a very small amount of people who look at me and see a person. Not my Crest or my title or my reputation, but _me_.”

“Plenty of people see you that way, Sylvain.” You soothed, not daring to move in case he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“Not at first,” He argued, shaking his head slightly. “Not like you.”

“Sylvain, at the time I didn’t understand-”

“Maybe not, but there would have been one thing that you did understand,” Sylvain interrupted you, taking hold of each of your hands in his own. “We were supposed to be enemies. You had the opportunity to take revenge for every last person you’d lost, you could have decided that we were enemies and nothing else. But you didn’t. You chose to see past that… You chose to give me a chance.”

“Sylvain…” You whispered, knowing what you needed to tell him, but unsure of how to begin. “When you asked me why I wouldn’t let you choose me-”

He raised a hand, silencing you before you could continue.

“You don’t have to answer that, if you don’t want to.” He said, smiling softly as he gently tugged you in the direction of the lake.

“Well, I had a lot of time to think about it…” You replied, following him closely. “I thought my only choice to fulfill the prophecy of never returning to Sreng was to die. And I think I thought that because I could not see a way to stay in Fodlan with the crown on my head. But… I don’t want to die.”

“And you won’t.” The redhead didn’t look at you, but you could tell that he meant it.

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“I know, but… I trust you.”

“To what? Not lose a fight? Not die on an unpredictable battlefield?”

“If anyone can survive against all odds… It’s you.”

“Well, what about _you_?”

“I don’t care about me!” Sylvain snapped, stopping in his tracks and rounding on you with a thousand different emotions clashing in his gaze.

You stared at him for a while, completely aware that he was waiting for you to say something. That you needed to _say something_. But everything was falling into place, becoming clearer to you than anything had been since you first left Sreng all those years ago.

Everything Sylvain had done lately… It had all been for you. Because he cared more for you than he did himself. And it broke your heart to learn just how much he hated himself. How much he valued the lives of those who bothered to care about him when he could barely care about himself.

“Why not?” You whispered, taking a step forward and placing a hand on his cheek. “Why do I have to matter more than you?”

You already knew the answer, but you needed to hear it from him. It was the only way.

“Because you’re you,” He gently shook his head, eyes shining with unshed tears as he looked at you. “You’re… Incredible, and you’re beautiful and… You’re the queen of an entire country. Compared to that, I don't really matter."

"Well you matter to me!" You snapped, hands dropping to your sides as you tried desperately to hold back your own tears. "I love you, Sylvain. And I don't want to lose you, I-I _can't_ lose you."

Sylvain just froze, staring at you as his mind processed what you'd said to him.

And you waited. Your stomach tied itself into knots as your mind threw all sorts of possibilities at you, all of them with this situation not ending well.

And then finally understanding dawned in his eyes, and he grinned. Shortly after that you were pulled into a tight hug, as if he thought you might disappear as soon as he let go. You brought your arms up to return the hug, gently resting your head on his chest so you could hear his heartbeat.

The two of you stood like that for a while, quietly holding on as if the world depended on it. His breathing was unsteady (as was yours), and his heartbeat slowed down ever so slightly with each passing second. Somewhere in the midst of it all, you were sure that you heard a muffled ‘I’m sorry’, but you didn’t have time to think about it.

Sylvain finally pulled away, his hands on your shoulders as he looked at you with something that you could only describe as determination.

“Marry me.” He said, all signs of his usual carefree demeanour long gone.

“What…?” You asked, reeling from the sudden change of topic.

“I love you,” He squeezed your shoulders as he spoke, looking more sure of himself than you’d seen him be in a long time. “And I’m sick of screwing things up and making you sad. So, as soon as the war’s over, let’s get married.”

“OK.”

“I know this is really sudden and might sound crazy but-” The redhead paused, blinking as he took in what you’d said. “Wait… Did you say OK?”

“I did,” You said, taking his hands off of your shoulders so that you could hold onto them. “As soon as the war is over, I will marry you. I promise.”

“Pinky Promise?” Sylvain asked, eyes brightening despite still looking a little red from tears he’d undoubtedly cried when he’d hugged you.

“What’s a… ‘Pinky Promise’?” You tilted your head, a confused frown on your face.

“It’s an unbreakable promise,” He explained, letting go of your left hand so that he could hold up his own, all fingers curled into a fist except for his pinky. “When we make it, we shake with our pinkies like this, and then we have to keep it.”

“That sounds childish.” You said flatly, shooting a dubious look at his hand once again.

“Of course it is, but we don’t have a great track record when it comes to keeping regular promises,” He grinned, already looking more like his usual self. “Besides, what’s the harm in being a little childish sometimes?”

You smiled, unable to stop yourself at the sight of genuine happiness on Sylvain’s face.

After all, there were several reasons why it could be harmful for you to act childish sometimes but… Well, just this one time couldn’t hurt. It didn’t really put anyone’s life on the line, after all, and if anything it could save his life.

“Alright,” You agreed, letting go of his hand so that you could mimic him. “I… _Pinky Promise_.”

Sylvain let out a breathy laugh as the two of you ‘shook’ on your promise, and you quietly laughed as well, already feeling giddy with the knowledge that soon things would be over.

There was no telling what would come next, but in that moment it didn’t really matter.

After all, you had something to look forward to, something to _fight for_.

And in the end, you knew everything would turn out OK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who wrote this entire chapter two different time before finally being happy with it? That's right, me. It's OK, I have finished it now, and I'm hoenstly pretty pleased with how it turned out :)


	46. No Time For Talking

“So you want to talk to Edelgard.” 

Several people turned to look at you, and those who were already facing in your general direction looked up as well. From your position leaning against the wall in the makeshift war room, you could see just about everything that went on.

It was far more comforting than sitting in one of those chairs and having the exit behind you or across a table from you.

Fort Merceus was far from the most comfortable place to be finishing preparations for an all-out assault on Enbarr, but it was certainly a lot closer than the monastery.

“At the risk of sounding like everyone who has ever objected to making peace with Sreng,” You said, crossing your arms. “I am not sure that it is possible to make peace with her.”

“How so?” Dimitri asked, looking more curious than upset.

“I am not saying that violence is the only language she understands, after all, I know all too well how that feels,” You began, carefully choosing your next words in order to avoid a fight. “But Edelgard is not stupid. She planned out this war very carefully, and had it not been for Byleth we would have long since lost. I don’t think that she would have started the war if even one part of her thought that there was another way to achieve… Whatever it is she is trying to do.”

“I was much like her not that long ago in my pursuit for revenge,” The prince countered, standing and placing his hands onto the table. “Are you suggesting that she doesn’t deserve the chance that I got? That I shouldn’t at least _try_ to hold out my hand for her, just as one was held out for me?”

“No, I am not suggesting anything of the sort,” You replied, keeping your voice even despite your growing frustration. “I am merely telling you not to get your hopes up. She would not have wasted so many resources and lives on this war if she did not see it as the only option… The girl you knew as a child is simply not the woman who started this war, even you have to recognise that at some point.”

“(y/n)’s right,” Sylvain chimed in, earning a grateful glance from you. “I mean, the way you described the girl you gave the dagger to compared to Edelgard when we met her at the academy… I never would have guessed that they were the same person.”

“I know,” Dimitri sighed, sitting back down. “Even still, I cannot help but hope that I’ll be able to reach her. That we can end this war without further bloodshed and _work together_ to make things better for Fodlan.”

“It’s certainly not a bad thing to hope for,” You said, pushing yourself off of the wall. “But if you want to meet with Edelgard, take somebody with you. Someone who can watch your back if she tries anything.”

“I don’t think Edelgard will-”

“If not her, then Hubert,” You pointed out, putting one hand onto your hip. “He goes everywhere she goes. This is _your_ best shot at ending the war early, but it’s _their_ best shot at dealing a major blow to this army.”

“I’ll go.” Byleth said, earning the attention of the entire room.

“Byleth, are you sure?” Dimitri asked, making you share a glance with Sylvain.

Since when did the prince call her by her first name?

The same question was written all over the redhead’s face, and he mouthed ‘_what?_’ at you before turning back to the conversation at hand.

“Somebody had to volunteer,” The former professor shrugged, standing up and smoothing down her coat. “Or else we would have been here for hours debating who should go. I’ve watched your back plenty of times, so why not me?”

“I don’t see any problem with the professor accompanying you, your highness.” Gilbert said, dipping his head in Byleth’s direction.

A chorus of agreement from around the room solidified the decision, and Byleth leaving the room without another word ended the meeting.

You followed shortly after, deciding that it would be better if you got on top of the work you still needed to do before the attack on Enbarr in a few days’ time. There would be time to chat with your friends later, right now you had more important things to do.

Felix easily caught up to you, and walked beside you silently for some time before saying anything.

“What did you do?”

“Do?” You echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Felix, you’re going to have to be more specific, I’ve done a good deal of things today.”

“To _Sylvain_.” He specified, making your stomach lurch.

How could he possibly have known? He wasn’t even at the monastery when you’d worked things out with Sylvain. And the two of you weren’t acting any differently around each other, were you?

Besides, why would Sylvain _not_ tell his closest friend?

“As far as I am aware I haven’t really _done_ anything to Sylvain,” You said coolly, forcing yourself to keep your composure. “He was uninjured when I left the meeting, yes?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Felix grumbled. “He’s… Different now.”

“Have you tried, I don’t know, asking the man himself?” You suggested, thinking that maybe they just hadn’t gotten a chance to speak yet.

There hadn’t exactly been much time to talk lately.

“I did.”

You forced yourself not to show any surprise, even as you tried to figure out why Sylvain was keeping things a secret. Yes, you’d both agreed to keep it quiet until the war was over but… Surely Felix and Ingrid would have been exempt from that?

“And?”

“And he said he was _happy_.” Felix frowned, looking more confused than upset.

“I don’t see the problem,” You said, smiling softly. “Is he… Not supposed to be happy?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” He snapped, hand reaching up to his hair before it dropped to his side again.

“I am not sure what you meant, Felix,” You sighed, finally spotting your command tent nearby. “It sounds like you are accusing me of doing something that had positive consequences… My knowledge of Fodlan is not _perfect_ but-”

“Look,” The Fraldarius heir interrupted, pausing just a few steps away from the tent. “Sylvain was mopey and irritating before he went back to the monastery.”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, deciding it was better to play dumb and ask Sylvain about it later.

“When you two came here he was different.” Felix said flatly, frustration shining in his eyes.

He seemed to be struggling to articulate what he wanted to say. What he wanted to ask. As per usual, the blue-haired man was refusing to show that he cared. Refusing to show any vulnerability.

You could sympathise with that, but you knew that straight up asking him to say what he meant would get you nowhere. He would need a push.

“If you are going to get to your point, can you do it soon?” You crossed your arms as you spoke. “I have a country to run, an army to command and about fifteen advisors to yell at before the day ends.”

Felix glared at you, clearly trying to tell you not to make him say it.

You held his gaze, mostly hoping that he wouldn’t keep being so stubborn for too much longer. You really _did_ have all those things to do, and more.

Finally his eyes dropped to the ground.

“It’s the happiest I’ve seen him since we were-” He shook his head, looking back up. “Nevermind. Just… Don’t get hurt.”

“Felix-” You started, reaching out for the Fraldarius heir.

But he turned quickly and marched back the way he came, not even bothering to say goodbye.

_Typical Felix_, you thought, shaking your head and turning back to the tent.

Of course he would say something so uncharacteristic of him and then walk away before you could acknowledge it. And what he’d said… Well, it hadn’t sounded like a ‘don’t get hurt in the war’ sort of thing, but rather a ‘don’t let your heart get broken’ sort of thing.

Which was a baffling thing for him to say to you, of all people. Of course, you’d always suspected that he didn’t dislike you half as much as he pretended to, that his grudging respect had turned into a lasting, albeit strange, friendship.

But you’d never expected him to say anything to prove your theory.

You lifted the flap of the tent, stepping inside and immediately forgetting about what had just happened at the sight of a seer.

“Ah,” You said, crossing the area and pausing just before the table in the centre. “I forgot I’d called you here.”

***

Sylvain was waiting patiently in the chair you’d directed him to when he walked in.

First Felix had been weirdly talkative and now Sylvain was weirdly quiet. You almost wondered if you were dreaming somehow.

He was reading; a slightly burnt and doubtless faded book resting on one knee as his eyes scanned the pages at a pace that you envied. If you were able to read that fast, you could have finished all of your stuffy royal duties two hours ago.

As fascinating as it was to watch, you knew you weren’t going to finish those duties if you didn’t stop looking at him. But it _was_ hard to tear your eyes away when he was so much more interesting than a letter about plans to repair an old arena in a town you’d never been to.

You forced yourself to look back down at the final letter you had to write before he could catch you staring, but the quiet chuckle he let out told you that he’d noticed. Your cheeks warmed up with a slight blush, but you couldn’t look back up. Not yet.

You wrote the last few sentences at a faster pace than you normally did, wanting to wrap things up before the redhead finally got bored and left. There was, after all, no way of telling how long he’d been waiting.

And you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t dying to know why he’d visited in the first place.

But, as you began writing your signature at the bottom of the page, you remembered your conversation with Felix.

“I spoke with Felix the other day.” You commented, carefully writing out your name in elegant, sloping letters.

“Oh yeah?” Sylvain hummed, not even looking up from his book.

“He asked me what I’d done to you,” You lifted your quill from the page, raising an eyebrow at the way your words caught the redhead’s attention. “Apparently you’ve been acting differently, and when he asked you why, you said that you were happy.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a lie,” Sylvain said, closing his book as he smiled softly. “I _am_ happy.”

“Well, I would hope so,” You laughed, dropping the quill into its inkpot as you pushed the letter to the side. “Otherwise we might have just had the biggest misunderstanding in the history of Fodlan.”

“Felix didn’t threaten you, did he?”

“Goodness, no,” You said, standing from your chair and stretching your arms above your head. “It’s just… Well, I thought you would have told him about us.”

“Did you… Want me to?” The Gautier heir asked hesitantly, eyes tracking you as you moved across the room and sat in the chair next to him.

“He’s your best friend, Sylvain,” You replied, putting your hand onto his. “I know we said we would keep it quiet but I would never expect you to keep something like this from him. Or Ingrid, for that matter.”

“Thanks," He murmured, placing his free hand on top of yours. "I guess I'm just worried that they'll try and talk me out of it or something."

"Why would they do that?" You asked, frowning and tilting your head.

"I don't know," He sighed, his head dropping. "Maybe they'll tell me to wait, to make sure that we actually _are_ in love, that we don't just think we are because of this war."

You didn't say anything, just waited. You knew he had more to say, but was just giving you the opportunity to change the subject.

Finally, Sylvain looked up, shaking his head with a soft but sad smile.

"But I know it's not just the war, because I have been in love with you since the night of the ball all those years ago," His words made you smile, and it seemed to give him the courage he needed to continue. “You walked in with that stunning dress on, and all I could do was stare at you in complete and utter amazement.”

He laughed breathlessly.

“It was the first time a girl has ever left me completely lost for words, I was talking to Caspar and I forgot what I was going to say in the middle of a word!” His smile widened, and he looked at you with eyes filled with adoration. “And then when I pulled you onto the dance floor, you gave me this… Bright smile. It was the happiest I had ever seen you. It took me a long time to realise it, but that’s when I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life making sure that you could always be that happy.”

For just a moment, you were reminded of what Farrah had said to you a few months before.

_’He looks at you like you are his whole world.’_

While you hadn’t believed her then, you definitely believed it now.

“That,” You said after a short silence, squeezing his hand. “Is exactly what you should tell them. They’re your closest friends, Sylvain, and when they hear that story, they’ll know that this isn’t something that will fall apart the moment everything settles down. They will know that it is _real_.”

“You know,” Sylvain murmured, looking down at your hand between his before looking back up at you. “I really missed talking to you like this.”

“I’ve missed talking to you too,” You replied, smiling softly. “There just… Hasn’t been any time.”

“I’m surprised we even managed to steal this much time.”

“What do you suppose has burnt down while we have been sitting here?”

“I’m not sure I want to find out.”

“Me neither,” You leaned sideways, resting your head on the redhead’s shoulder as you spoke. “Can we just stay like this until someone comes looking for us?”

“I’ll stay as long as you like.” He replied, pressing a light kiss to your hair.

You let your eyes close, just enjoying the few moments of peace you’d somehow managed to scrape together in the middle of probably the biggest moment of the war.

This was the sort of peace you wanted to last forever, just sitting quietly in each others’ presence and not worrying about the world around you. It was the first time in a very long time that you had been able to do anything like this, that you had felt safe enough to relax.

But this sort of peace was always short-lived, and it always ended well before you were ready.

You knew that, yet you stayed, hoping for just a few moments more despite knowing that you would have a lifetime of moments just like this ahead of you.

All you had to do was survive the war.

But until then, this would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote so much angst that I almost forgot how to not do that. Figured this chapter was as good as any to hop off the angst train!
> 
> One more chapter left, and then I have plans in place for the next thing I'll be working on, as well as hopefully plans to finish all the one-shots I've started and never finished. Thank you for reading!!
> 
> EDIT:: LOL I forgot to name the chapter. My bad!


	47. An Empire Falls, A Kingdom Rises, And A Queen Says Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh author note at the beginning, this is a first!  
Just a quick forewarning that this chapter's a long one!!

Your back hit the crumbling brick wall behind you with a thud that jarred what felt like every bone in your body and knocked the breath right out of you.

To top it all off, your ears were still ringing from the bolt of lightning you had narrowly dodged just a few minutes earlier.

Of course Dorothea would have had something nearby protecting her. Why it had to be one of those bird monsters was beyond you, and why she had decided to stay with Edelgard despite clearly being on the losing side was even further beyond you.

When you’d known her back at the academy, Dorothea hadn’t done anything without a purpose. She used everything she had at her disposal to get what she wanted, to keep her status and power at whatever costs. She’d been ambitious, never doing something if she thought there was a good enough chance that she would lose.

It reminded you much of… Well, yourself. And everyone you had known back in Sreng.

Which was why you’d never spent more time around her than you’d needed to. Something you were now regretting, because your surface knowledge of what she could do had just gotten you thrown into a building.

Sylvain dismounted, dropping to one knee at your side and putting a hand on your shoulder.

“You OK?” He asked, looking you over carefully.

“Fine,” You wheezed, sucking in a few deep breaths before continuing. “Is this what it feels like when you get launched off your horse?”

“I don’t get launched off my horse.” He muttered, quickly looking around to make sure that the two of you were in relative safety.

“Says the man who was on his ass in the mud with his horse long gone when I got back to the monastery a few months ago.” You retorted, shakily pulling yourself up into a better position.

“Nice to know your sense of humour wasn’t pulverised when you hit that wall,” Sylvain grinned, glancing back toward the fighting before continuing. “Can you walk?”

You spared a look in the direction of the fight. Ashe and several other archers were doing a fine job taking down the bird, and Dorothea currently had her back to you.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was your best chance to get out and find some cover that you could actually hide behind as you caught your breath.

“Yes,” You breathed, clumsily pushing yourself into a better position for standing up. “But I might need some help.”

“Always,” He replied, looping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you to your feet. “Come on, I think I saw Mercedes nearby.”

“I don’t need to see a healer.” You protested, leaning on your fiancé despite knowing that it contradicted your words.

“You just got thrown into a building,” He sighed, pausing as soon as you were out of sight of most of the fighting. “No one will think less of you for at least asking someone to check out your injuries.”

“I can’t stop, Sylvain,” You said, panic surging within you. “Farrah’s out there, she needs someone to watch her back! She needs-”

“Hey,” Sylvain put one hand on your cheek, his expression turning serious. “Panic won’t help Farrah, just breathe. Where did you last see her?”

“Across that bridge,” You jerked your head in the direction of the fight you’d just been thrown from. “She said she had a plan and ran across without thinking, I tried to follow her but…”

“OK, she said she had a plan, maybe we can find her that way,” He glanced up at the sound of something crashing into the ground. “What was the plan?”

“I don’t know!” You reached for your swords only to find an empty space where they should have been. “I… Think she’s upset with me.”

“Upset?” He echoed, frowning. “Man, I thought she was rooting for us…”

“Rooting?”

“You did tell her about us, didn’t you?”

“No, I…” You paused, biting your lip as you thought it over. “I was about to tell her last night and then- we were interrupted by a Seer.”

“A Seer?” Sylvain tilted his head slightly, his gaze turning thoughtful. “What did it say?”

“I don’t know, it wanted to talk to Farrah, not me,” Your eyes widened as the realisation hit you. “Sylvain, I think she’s going to challenge me for the throne.”

“What?” His hand dropped from your cheek, some colour draining from his face at the very thought. “I-I thought you said she would never be queen.”

“I can’t explain right now,” You took hold of both of his hands. “I just need to find her, she needs to survive this battle.”

“So she can kill you?” He asked, squeezing your hands.

“She won’t kill me, I promise,” You shook your head slightly, listening as the nearby fight grew ever closer to the pair of you. “And I promise I will explain everything once this is over. Please, just trust me.”

He stared at you for a while, and you knew that he was listening to the fight as well, weighing up his options. Finally, he nodded.

“Alright, I’ll make a distraction, you get across the bridge and find Farrah,” He breathed, pulling you closer so he could gently press his forehead to yours. “Stay safe OK? I love you.”

“I love you,” You murmured, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment before you pulled away, releasing his hands. “I will see you when all this is over.”

Sylvain reluctantly stepped away from you, sparing one last glance back at you before he remounted his horse and led it back into the fray. As soon as you heard him join in the battle, you ran back to where you’d hit the wall, pausing only to pick up the swords you had dropped on impact before you changed directions.

Dorothea was nowhere to be seen, which didn’t bode well for whatever Farrah had decided she needed to do. But you couldn’t worry about where she’d gone, not when your half-sister was somewhere in the thick of the fighting, completely alone.

When you’d told the Seer to tell Farrah that they had lied to her all those years ago… Well, you hadn’t expected it to happen until _after_ the battle, when the danger had passed and she could safely take the crown from you and return to Sreng.

But now… Well, there was no telling what was going on in her mind.

A meteor crashing into the ground near you forced you back into thinking about the fight rather than the future, and you raised your arm to shield your face just in time. You skidded to a halt, wincing as tiny, scorching hot rocks pelted your side.

“Isn’t this interesting?” Dorothea said as the dust cleared. “When Hubie said _you_ were leading that other army that Dimitri pulled out of thin air… Well, let’s just say I didn’t believe him. But here you are.”

“Here I am.” You confirmed, tightening your grip on your swords.

“I really don’t want to fight you, (y/n),” She sighed, electricity crackling around the fingers of her right hand. “And I think we both know I’ll hit you with this spell before you can get close enough to use those swords… Stand down. Please.”

“We both know I can’t do that.” You replied, catching a glimpse of a shadow behind her moments before the mage froze.

The blade of a sword suddenly rested at her throat, and Farrah smiled as she pulled Dorothea in.

“Perhaps it is _you_ who should stand down.” Your sister muttered, looking to you for an order that you couldn’t bring yourself to give.

Dorothea hadn’t been your friend, no, she was more of an acquaintance, but… Well, she had been a friend to many others in the army. And besides, with the war so close to being over, killing her now felt… Wrong.

“Is this how you tricked Ferdie into joining your army?” Dorothea asked, eyes alight with a fiery anger.

“I did not trick Ferdinand into doing anything.” You said, keeping your voice even despite holding her very life in your hands.

“Then _why_ did he abandon the Empire?” The mage snapped, struggling in Farrah’s grip until the blade pressed a little too close to her throat for comfort. “What did you do?”

There it was again. Someone asking you what you’d _done_.

You shrugged.

“I was kind.”

“Kind? _You_?” She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ve heard the stories, (y/n). How you killed all those bandits during your class’ first mission without a shred of doubt, or regret. You’re a monster.”

“War has made monsters of us all, Dorothea,” You said, shaking your head at Farrah, who frowned before slowly nodding. “The only difference now between you and I is that I have lived with war far longer than you ever will.”

Farrah drew her sword away, then swung the hilt back into the back of Dorothea’s head, knocking the mage out cold. Carefully, she was lowered to the ground out of the way of main pathways, and your half-sister looked up once more only to grimly nod at you.

“Did your plan work, Farrah?” You asked, beginning to walk in the direction of the palace in the middle of the city.

“Not yet, your majesty,” She replied, moving to walk at your side. “But it will soon.”

You shot her a sideways glance, taking in her clenched jaw and the look of determination shining in her eyes. She was hiding it well, but there was definitely a hint of sadness hiding somewhere in her features.

And somehow you knew that her plan had nothing to do with the current battle.

Nothing at all.

***

You’d always known Hubert to be a crafty one, but you had never expected him to pull more troops from nowhere.

So, instead of going into the palace with everyone else, you had decided to stay outside with your warriors and finish what you’d started. Sylvain hadn’t wanted you to go, but you both knew that it was the best chance you had of ending the war once and for all.

But now, standing beside Farrah with the doors of the palace at your backs, you wished you had gone with him and your friends after all. Watching your people put out fires, help the wounded and round up stray soldiers while you listened for any sign of what was going on inside… You felt helpless.

It was the not knowing that irritated you most.

Not knowing if they were OK, if you were going to leave Enbarr with your friends or with Edelgard’s remaining forces on your trail…

Well, you had begun to understand how Sylvain had felt during those two and a half years he spent waiting for you. You promised yourself that if he came out of there alive you would apologise all over again.

“Have you made a decision?” Farrah asked, startling you out of your thoughts.

“About?”

“The war is over.”

“Not yet.”

As if to emphasise your words, a loud crash emanated from inside the palace, and you almost flinched. You wanted to look back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“You can never return to Sreng,” Farrah said carefully, sparing a glance at the doors as if wondering what might come through them. “Win or lose, you will need to make a decision.”

“I am staying here.” You sighed, pushing your worry to the back of your mind.

Now wasn’t the time.

“In Enbarr?”

“In Fodlan.”

“And what will you do about your crown?”

“There will have to be a Gauntlet.”

“You cannot be serious!” Farrah turned to you then, eyes alight with disbelief. “There is no telling who will end up on the throne, or even if they will uphold the treaty with the southerners!”

“I know exactly who will end up on the throne,” You replied, turning to face her with a mask of complete calm. “Because it will be you. And don’t bother telling me that you will not participate, we both know that all able members of the royal family _must_ join the Gauntlet.”

“I cannot win the Gauntlet, even if I enter,” Your half-sister argued. “The seers told me-”

“Half the truth,” You finished, one hand moving to rest on your waist. “You _can_ take the throne. And I am trusting you to do exactly that.”

“There must be another way.” She said quietly, turning her gaze back to the cleanup.

“There isn’t,” You said, finally looking at the doors behind you with a growing sense of dread. “I will announce the Gauntlet before you leave, it will be my final act as queen of Sreng.”

There was another crash, and you forced yourself to turn away and focus on the things that you _could_ control, rather than those that were out of your control. It was all up to Dimitri and your friends now.

“Sylvain,” Farrah murmured after a short silence, broken only by the mysterious crashes. “He makes you happy, yes?”

“He… Does,” You confirmed, frowning thoughtfully. “But how did you…?”

“I sent him back to the monastery after we captured the fort, told him he had an important job to do,” She smiled, eyes glittering with a hint of sadness. “You both… Smile more now, it reminds me of father.”

“You and I have very different memories of father,” You said, earning a chuckle from your half-sister. “You knew him before he became obsessed with controlling us.”

“Before he heard what was in store for _you_.” Farrah said cryptically, earning a puzzled frown from you.

What had she meant by that? Sure, your father hadn’t been _perfect_ while you were growing up… But had he really changed immediately after you had been born? After the seer had chosen the red blanket for you?

Before you could ask, there was a loud creak as the doors behind you opened. You turned, watching as Dimitri and Byleth walked out, the former clutching a bloody stain over his stomach with one hand.

You ran forward to meet them, Farrah trailing behind.

“Edelgard?” You asked, gaze flitting first to Dimitri’s wound, then to Byleth, who shook her head slightly. “Farrah, can you round up our generals and have them meet me in the command tent?”

Your half-sister nodded, disappearing into the streets immediately, and you relaxed a little once she was gone. It would be easier to do what came next without her presence.

Mercedes was next to emerge, seeming to just appear at the prince’s side with her healing magic already glowing around her fingertips as she fussed over him. You let the trio pass you without another word, watching carefully as, one by one, your friends all walked out of the palace alive.

And then finally, _finally_...

Sylvain walked out, smiling and waving away Felix and Ingrid as they tried to find out if he was hiding injuries again. He looked dishevelled; his hair wilder than usual and his armour looking far dustier than it should have.

But otherwise he looked… Fine.

And he looked better than fine when his gaze landed on you, his smile becoming even brighter at the realisation that you’d both made it out of this _alive_.

You let out a relieved huff, your legs moving towards him of their own free will until you were close enough to throw your arms around his shoulders and hug him close to you. One of his hands immediately moved to rest gently on the back of your head, while the other landed on your back.

“Don’t you two have more important things to do?” Felix asked, completely ruining the moment. “Seteth will leave for the monastery soon if you don’t hurry up.”

You pulled away from Sylvain then, narrowing your eyes thoughtfully at Felix. Was he… Doing something _nice_?

Nonetheless, he was right, Seteth had indeed expressed a desire to return to the monastery as soon as the fight in Enbarr had ended. Probably to begin preparations to rebuild the church to its former glory.

You turned your gaze back to Sylvain, nodding once at the sight of the question in his gaze.

He took your hand, stepping past you and pulling you into a run in the direction he’d last seen the advisor.

As it turned out, Seteth had been more difficult to find than he had been to convince that the two of you wanted to get married _immediately_. In fact, he had smiled at your request, a faraway look entering his eyes before he spoke.

“The two of you remind me of my wife and I when we got married,” He said, blinking twice to dispel the memories. “We, too, wanted to marry as soon as we could.”

“Did you?” Sylvain asked, gently squeezing your hand.

“No, Rhea convinced us to wait a little while,” Seteth explained, looking first at Sylvain, then at you. “She reminded us that our marriage was a special occasion, made all the more special by choosing to share it with those we held dear.”

“You… Want us to have a proper ceremony? With guests and everything?” You shook your head before continuing. “No, we wanted to do it this way because we know everyone will be busy with rebuilding, and Dimitri ascending the throne. We can’t really ask anyone to give up time and resources for our wedding at a time like this.”

“I am not suggesting anything of the sort,” Seteth chuckled. “I am merely telling you to wait until we return to the monastery. I can say the words all I want right now, but the marriage will not be official until certain documents can be drawn up.”

“I think we can manage that,” Sylvain murmured, shooting a soft smile at you. “Right, (y/n)?”

“A few more days won’t hurt,” You agreed, a huff of amusement escaping your lips. “We’ve waited this long…”

“Very well, I will see the two of you when you return,” Seteth dipped his head, almost turning away before he spoke again. “And if you change your mind about inviting your friends, I am sure they will not object to taking just a few minutes out of their day to share in your happiness. It need not be a big occasion, simply a joyous one.”

As you watched him go, a small part of you told you that he was right.

***

As soon as the army returned to the monastery, Seteth conducted a small wedding in the barely rebuilt cathedral.

There were no rings, nor was there a white dress or flowers or really much fuss. Just Sylvain, (y/n), the Blue Lions class, and Byleth. They hadn’t really needed anything else, all the pomp and fuss could be saved for a later date, when the newly united Kingdom was in a better state.

And later that night, the redhead found himself sitting next to his wife - his _wife_ \- as the grand hall once again held a kind of celebration that he hadn’t seen since the ball all those years ago. It was grand, and rowdy and…

And he wasn’t really paying attention to it. He tried, really he did, but all he could think of was how he had survived the war.

Not only that, but he had found someone who loved him for who he was, someone who didn’t care about his Crest or his status or any of that. She just… Loved him. It was strange, but also _so good_.

By all means, they should have hated each other. And he remembered a time when he’d _wanted_ her to hate him. But now he was happy that she hadn’t.

He was glad they’d both survived long enough to see this moment, and he was glad he hadn’t messed it up. That was probably the most surprising thing; not that he’d found her, but that he hadn’t gone and ruined it.

That was the thing that had always terrified him most. Finding someone he really liked, someone he could trust to give his heart to, then backing out and screwing up his only shot. He knew there were times when he’d considered it, when he’d thought that he didn’t _really_ deserve to have someone _that_ wonderful in his life.

But she’d never cared about such frivolous things. There was no _deserving_ something in her world. There was only surviving, taking what you could and running. Not letting anyone else stand in your way. It was one of many times that he’d taken a page out of her book, taking his shot at a happy life, at love, and not letting anyone (not even himself) stand in his way.

And Sylvain knew that he was all the better for it.

“Is something the matter?” (y/n) asked, her hand lightly resting on his shoulder.

He blinked, wondering how long he’d been staring aimlessly across the room as he turned to look at her.

_His wife_. He could still hardly believe it.

“Yeah,” The redhead smiled, bringing one hand up to rest on hers. “I was just thinking-”

The sound of a spoon hitting a glass cut through all the noise, and a hush fell over the room as Dimitri stood, looking far more alive than he had just a few short months ago when everyone had returned to the monastery.

“I’m… Sorry to interrupt,” The prince began, looking around the room with an almost embarrassed sort of look on his face. “But I have been told a few times this evening that I should say something. Until just now I was not really sure what to say. There is, after all, no way to truly thank everyone for following me, even when I did not deserve it.”

Sylvain looked around the room as well, spotting each of his friends among the crowds, until finally his gaze rested on his former professor. Byleth was sitting in her seat of honour, watching the prince with her usual neutral gaze, until she turned to look at the redhead. She smiled softly, jerking her head in the direction of the prince after a few moments.

“Thank you, for your aid. Because of everyone here, and those who are not here, we have finally ended the war that Edelgard started,” Dimitri continued, drawing Sylvain’s attention away. “But we are not only celebrating the end of a war tonight, we are also celebrating the first of many new beginnings.”

The prince turned to look at the redhead and his wife, effectively making the entire room look at them. Sylvain wanted nothing more than to bury his head in his hands, to ask His Highness why he’d felt the need to _tell everyone_, why he had to make such a fuss.

But the former skirt-chaser knew deep down that he would probably have done exactly the same thing if Dimitri had gotten married today. They were friends, and celebrating with each other was simply what they did.

So, Sylvain smiled.

“(y/n) and Sylvain’s love for each other stretches back all the way to our time at the academy, although at the time I am sure they didn’t know it,” Dimitri chuckled before continuing. “I was not aware of it either, of course. But when someone pointed it out to me not too long ago, quite a few things began to make sense. They were born on opposite sides of a conflict, and yet they protected each other, they argued, they laughed together, they shared a dance at the ball.”

The prince paused, glancing down at the table before looking back up. A gesture that wouldn’t seem terribly important to anyone who didn’t know him well, but to Sylvain, it meant that he was trying very hard not to cry.

“Against all the odds, they fell in love,” Dimitri finally said, raising his glass a little higher. “And in doing so, they proved that the people of Fodlan and Sreng can coexist. Their marriage this morning was not only a symbol of their love, but also of a peace treaty with Sreng that I hope will continue for many, many years… To the end of the war, and… To new beginnings.”

The sentiment was echoed around the room, followed quickly by the clinking of glasses, and then a steady stream of people Sylvain and his wife had worked with throughout the war. Each of them offered congratulations, and in some cases apologies for how they had treated her when they’d initially found out her true identity.

(y/n) only smiled, resting one hand on Sylvain’s as she spoke with everyone who came past.

And he honestly couldn’t have felt more thankful that he had gone along with the arranged marriage all those years ago. There was no more need for the Lance of Ruin now, at least, he hoped there wasn’t, and that meant that there was no need for his children to carry a Crest.

What happened to Miklan would never happen again, he was going to make sure of it.

And he knew that (y/n) would be there with him, every step of the way.

***

The energy among the Sreng warriors had changed.

You knew it would come to this, that Dimitri’s well-intentioned announcement would have serious consequences. It was why you hadn’t argued when he told you his plan to do exactly that, because you _knew_.

The general dissent amongst those you had led out here had grown over the few days they had spent in Fodlan recovering and preparing for the trek back to their home. They were, in short, not pleased with your marrying a southerner. Nor with the idea of a foreign king.

So they had turned to Farrah, silently hoping that she would snatch the throne out from under you. That hope was starting to deflate as the time to return to Sreng crept ever-closer, and your half-sister continued to show no signs of a challenge.

It was exactly what you were counting on.

Farrah dipped her head as she stopped in front of you, looking troubled despite her attempts to hide it. You exchanged a glance with Sylvain, who had forgotten to ask you for an explanation of your plan to not die when she challenged you for the throne.

“Everyone is almost ready to leave,” She said, hands resting on her waist. “We are waiting for your command.”

“I will announce the Gauntlet then.” You sighed, earning a raised eyebrow from your husband.

“No, you will not.”

Farrah’s words were accompanied by a soft thud as her dagger fell to the dirt between you, and her once-stoic expression had been replaced with one of hard determination.

“Farrah?” You asked, your gaze moving between her and the knife.

“One hour,” Your half-sister replied, lifting her chin defiantly. “I will be waiting.”

“Farrah.” You repeated, making her pause before she could turn away. “Since a war has just ended, I hope you will agree to a nonlethal duel. First to drop their weapon, and the loser is banished for the rest of their days.”

She only nodded in response, striding away with all the confidence befitting a queen.

“So that was your plan for her not killing you in a duel?” Sylvain asked, making you tear your gaze away from your sister so that you could instead focus on him. “Couldn’t you have just asked her to do this?”

“She spent her entire life believing that she would never ascend to the throne,” You explained. “I found out that the seers lied, that she _would_ be Sreng’s ruler, provided she bested the crimson queen. Even so, her desire for the crown has long since been discarded. The only other way she would challenge me for the throne and seek out her destiny… Is if her sense of duty commanded it.”

“And this is where the Gauntlet comes in, yeah?” He frowned thoughtfully, his mind working at what your plan could possibly have been. “My guess is that there’s no telling who would come out on top, or if they would uphold the treaty you and his highness put together.”

“Correct,” You smiled, resting a hand on his arm. “Farrah agrees that the treaty is for the good of Sreng, thus she cannot allow it to be threatened by the unpredictability of the Gauntlet.”

“So she would end up taking the only option left to her that would ensure its survival…”

“Which is challenging me,” You finished, turning your gaze back to the army you would soon be saying goodbye to. “I… Don’t want to say goodbye to her.”

“It’s not going to be goodbye forever,” Sylvain said, wrapping one arm around your shoulder and pulling you close to him. “I’m sure Dimitri will find all sorts of reasons for her to visit, and I can be pretty good at coming up with excuses sometimes too.”

“Thank you, Sylvain.” You breathed, resting your head on his shoulder.

An hour later, as you strode towards the makeshift arena that had been laid out in the dirt, your head held high and your expression a mask of confidence, the seer’s words from your last visit to Sreng echoed in your mind.

_A long-kept secret will be revealed, and you will lose two things. A burden, and something you hold dear._

You stepped into the ring, waiting patiently as Farrah explained the rules to those around you. You were about to lose your burden - the crown - and also something you held dear:

Farrah.

Finally she turned to you and raised her swords. In contrast, you raised only one, fully prepared for what you had to do next. Something you never would have imagined doing six years ago…

The command to start was shouted, your half-sister prepared herself to move forward and press the attack. Time slowed as you held out your sword.

And let go.

It hit the dirt with a dull thud, a noise that, while quiet, had somehow felt like the loudest one you’d ever heard.

Everyone had gone silent, and Farrah only stared at you, her eyes widening as she connected the dots. You stepped forward, removing your crown and handing it to the judge of the match, who looked just as confused as everyone else.

No one could figure out _why_ you would give up your crown. Why you would purposefully lose a fight.

Slowly, your half-sister lowered her swords, staring at you incredulously.

“You planned this,” Farrah said, switching to her native language. “The seers said I had to _best_ you, but I haven’t. You threw the match, there was no way I could best you like that!”

“They never said how you had to best me, Farrah,” You replied, your arm sweeping around to gesture at the crowd surrounding the pair of you. “They respect you, Farrah, they always have. In that regard, I believe, you have bested me.”

“How long have you been planning to do this?” She asked. “Since you were injured during the solstice? Or was it earlier? Did you plan this when you first took the throne?”

“I never intended to take the throne, Farrah,” You said softly. “Mine was a path soaked with blood, but it was never going to end with a crown.”

You held out your hand, and Sylvain stepped into the ring to hand you a familiar dagger. 

As soon as you had taken hold of it, you stepped forward.

“I have been controlled by destiny for a long time now, and it’s time I sought out my own path, without knowing what is to come,” You held out the dagger, nodding for Farrah to take it. “It’s about time you found your own path too. Father used this dagger to kill a seer the night I was born, your mother gave it to me but… I think she would want you to have it. No one can tell you who you’re going to be, Farrah, use this to make sure of it.”

Before she could respond, you placed a hand over your heart and bowed deeply to the new Queen of Sreng, then turned away and strode to your husband’s side, letting him lead you.

First you would return to the monastery for a short while longer to support Byleth and her appointment as the next Archbishop. Then, you would visit Fhirdiad for Dimitri’s coronation.

And after that?

You would return to Gautier territory with Sylvain.

For the first time in a long time, you would finally be going _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's... Over.
> 
> I finished it! 294 pages. That's right! 294 pages!! This fic was so big that I actually separated it into two different google doc files because it started lagging every time I opened it.
> 
> I just gotta say, thank you for reading all this! Whether you've been reading from the start, came in partway through, or started reading after it was finished. If you made it this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I really appreciate every last one of you, and I hope you'll stick around for whatever I start next.
> 
> And yet another thank you to my beta reader, the only irl friend I have told about my fic writing, you're awesome and I appreciate everything you did to help me with this. Be it reading my chapters before I post them, telling me if Sylvain is the type of guy to incite a pinky promise even at the age of 25/26, or just helping me decide which of the two plot points sounds jucier, thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> Finally, if you're wondering whether there'll be an epilogue or continuation of this, the answer is: Probably! I have the beginnings of an idea for an epilogue, and a few ideas for alternate versions of this story with new situations and plots. You'll just have to wait and see :)


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